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/*\ystery 




BY 


A& y. 1692. pubIi 5 l?«<montbIy. Annual Subscription, $5. 00 

Eot«re<I at tbe /Hew YorK Post Office as S«coo<l Class A\atter 



























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THE 


Catherwood Mystery 


H IRovel 


BY 




ALBERT P. SOUTH WICK 

AUTHOR OF 

“bijou,” “brown, the lawyer,” etc. 



JOHN A. TAYLOR AND COMPANY 
1 19 Potter Building 




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Copyright, 1892, 
by albert p. southwick 

. 






CONTENTS 


BOOK I.— IN- DOORS. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — At Full Tide 5 

II. — The Home of Mrs. Catherwood, . . .11 

III. — Arrival of the Train, 24 

IV. — Small Evidence, 32 

V. — The Two Boarders, 42 

VI. — Developments, 52 

VII. — The Man-Hunter 61 

VIII. — A Fruitless Quest 71 

— 

BOOK II.— ABROAD. 

IX. — Personal Amenities, 80 

X. — Estelle Wagner's Confession, . . .89 

XI. — Dissensions, 99 

XII.— Mr. Sampson, Gentleman, .... 108 

XIII. — A Night’s Adventure, 120 

XIV. — Finding the Money, 130 

XV. — Particeps Criminis, 146 

XVI.— Domestic Bliss, 15? 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XVII.— At the Sea Shore, 165 

XVIII. — The Girl Detective, 178 

XIX. — A Newspaper Man, 186 


BOOK III.— AT HOME . 

XX. — Second Happiness, 196 

XXI.— The Sybarite, 206 

XXII. — “Chi Tace Confessa,” 216 

XXIII. — Questions of Probate, . . t 224 

XXIV.— The Interview, 229 

XXV. — Found — A Will, 239 

XXVI. — A Modern Nitocris, . . . . .248 

XXVII,— Caught, 259 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


BOOK I.— IN- DOORS. 


CHAPTER I. 

AT FULL TIDE. 

The following startling paragraph appeared, as 
special news, under an appropriately large heading, 
with subdivisions of sensational import, italicized 
in glaring capitals, in the local columns of the New 
York , on Tuesday, June 17, 1873: 

“A MYSTERIOUS TRAGEDY. 

“Mr. Jabez Catherwood, a gentleman who has lately 
returned from Ridge’s Gulch, California, was found 
murdered in his room at the fashionable boarding-house 
of Mrs. Pentricks, on East Ninth Street, about 10:30 this 
morning. Mr. Catherwood, who was formerly a resb 
dent of this city, and is a native of this State, had lately 
disposed of his financial interests in the West, and is 
supposed to have had a large sum of money with costly 
valuables in his possession. There was no evidence of 
robbery, however, only some torn, unmarked manilla 
envelopes, which had probably been thrown aside by the 
deceased, littering the floor. The dead man had been 

5 


6 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


stabbed in the breast, and the knife, sunk to the haft in 
the body, caused the corpse to present a ghastly sight as 
it lay stretched upon a lounge where it had evidently 
fallen in the death struggle. Little confusion, other- 
wise, was observable in the room. Coroner Jones held 
an inquest at noon. A hearing will take place before 
Justice Marvel at 4 o’clock this afternoon ; but, as yet, 
there is no trace of the murderer. Though the police 
authorities are very reticent regarding the case, we ex- 
pect to be able to present some important announce- 
ments in to-morrow’s issue.” 

But the next day’s sheet, and the columns of its 
morning’s contemporaries, gave but little additional 
information to the eager readers who perused the 
course of this thrilling sensation in the damp papers 
they held by one hand as thej^ sipped their breakfast 
coffee, anticipating revelations that never came. It 
appeared that bonds and other securities were found 
securely packed in a well-worn valise, the key of 
which was in the vest-pocket of the deceased, and 
upon his person were several pieces of jewelry and 
a small amount of ready money. There were no 
evidences that the murderer had been successful in 
obtaining any booty, even if the attempt had been 
made. The police believed that revenge was the 
motive. A peddler and some half-a-dozen gentlemen 
(at least, two or three were known to be such) , with 
one lady, had been admitted to his room during the 
afternoon and evening of the day when it was sup- 
posed the crime was committed. It had also been 
ascertained that he left a widow and daughter, who 
lived in comparatively humble circumstances on 
Sixth Avenue, in the vicinity of Clinton Place, and 


AT FULL TIDE. 


7 


to the former of whom the money and valuables had 
been given, after an official investigation of her 
claims had been made, and the attorney delegated by 
her had applied for papers of administration as ex- 
ecutrix of a will she produced, which was dated some 
two years previous. 

The house where the murder had occurred was a 
four-story brick building, with brownstone trimmings 
and high steps of the same material, bounded by an 
iron railing. It was capped with a mansard roof, 
and upheld by a kitchen basement and dining-room. 
The windows of the latter, partly covered with light 
gauze, looked out upon a small area, in which were 
a few strands of stunted grass shooting up from the 
interstices of the granite slabs, and separated from 
the sidewalk by a picket-and-rail iron fence. It was 
a substantial dwelling, of the style of architecture in 
vogue thirty-five and forty years ago, was in excel- 
lent repair, save the rickety window-shutters, and 
only in its interior decoration varied in general 
appearance from thousands of houses on the cross 
streets running east and west of the city. A few 
years before, it had been the home of a wealthy mer- 
chant who had moved from it unwillingly to a more 
pretentious and, presumably, more fashionable re- 
sidence up-town, in deference to the assiduous pleas 
of his family, who said they craved “ a more con- 
genial atmosphere.” The other buildings in the 
block were similar; some, larger, of plain brick alone, 
while one or two were faced entirely in brownstone. 
But the neighborhood still retained much of its 
former dignity (though the grandeur had departed) 
as a desirable locality, for property was valuable and 


8 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


some society people still held possession of their own 
family mansions. 

For two or three days, a gaping crowd of curiosity- 
seekers hovered about the premises, despite the fact 
that a burly policeman, especially detailed, served 
his harsh summons upon the throng “to move on.” 
The third day after the discovery of the murder 
(Friday) there was announced, by suitably crimson- 
lined posters, placarded in various parts of the city, 
and by generously displayed advertisements (with the 
usual reading notices elsewhere) in the leading dail- 
ies, a proffered reward of $1,000 for the capture of 
the party or parties cognizant of the crime. These 
notices excited some adverse comment, as the sum 
to be awarded was regarded as inadequate in behalf 
of a man who must have left behind the moiety of 
“a cool million.” This amount, however, was really 
approximate to the entire value of ready cash and 
the estimated worth of the jewelry found among the 
dead man’s effects, for no appraisement had yet been 
made of the contents of the valise. The detective 
force was said, as is usual, to be “ actively engaged 
upon the affair,” and “some startling developments 
might be expected soon. ” 

The press, however, soon began to refer to this 
mystery of No. 14 as beyond the ken of detective 
insight, and to accuse these “ sharp fellows ” of their 
usual gross incompetency in sifting the facts. In- 
dividually and collectively, the detectives themselves 
were obliged to confess their utter helplessness, 
though some of them ascribed it to a vendetta. 
Catherwood had, in all probability, been followed 
from the West, and, at the first opportunity, killed 


AT FULL TIDE. 


9 


by his unknown enemy, who was then possibly, like 
an ominous bird of flight, thousands of miles away. 
Visions of the Mafia and speculations relating to the 
Carbonari ran riot through their brains, and there 
was a general partly expressed belief among them 
that any one taking a special interest would become 
“a marked man.” The idea of fighting, single- 
handed, a powerful, vicious, and moneyed organiza- 
tion was not a palatable one. 

The murder, peculiar as were the attending cir- 
cumstances, barely lived its allotted time as a nine- 
days’ wonder, and as a sensation was succeeded by 
the more racy details of a divorce suit against a fa- 
vorite comic opera singer, in which her leading man 
was named as co-respondent ; and before the types 
rehearsing the spicy testimony were cold, the grati- 
fying morsel of news was heralded to the prurient 
gossips that Mrs. Shoddy’s eldest daughter, “ a young 
thing of twenty-seven,” had “really and honestly” 
eloped with the English coachman, an imported ar- 
ticle that the family had taken upon trial only six 
months before. The late Mr. Catherwood had been 
an ordinary individual, who had lived an ordinary 
existence in the mining districts of the Pacific slope, 
and who, though leaving this world in rather an un- 
ordinary manner, had, by his untimely exit, bestowed 
a goodly fortune upon a family of the same kindred 
nature. As a sop of consolation, it must have been 
acceptable, so idle rumor said. True, a ghastly 
murder had been committed, and the community 
ought to have satisfaction tendered their disturbed 
nerves, by hearing of the capture, conviction, and 
execution of the criminal ; but the entire affair was 


10 


THE CATHERW00D MYSTERY. 


otherwise, in the language of a tired swell of Lexing- 
ton Avenue, “ too awful commonplace, doncher 
know.” And in behalf of the deceased there was 
really no complaint. There are two classes of men 
who are unfortunate. One has too many friends; the 
other has none. Catherwood could be included in 
the latter category. 


CHAPTER II 


THE HOME OF MRS. CATHERWOOD. 

It is quite possible that they were an ordinary 
family, but there had not apparently been, for 
months past, a happier or more contented one in the 
whole metropolis. Mrs. Catherwood at the age of 
sixteen had been married to the deceased, who was 
about twenty-five years her senior. She had been 
completely subjected — “carried away” is the common 
expression — by that infatuation which a middle-aged 
man seems frequently to exert on a very young girl. 
As Marie Childs, her youth had been unpleasantly 
marked with tribulation. She had suffered the stings 
of poverty, and had been condemned to the daily 
struggle of aiding her widowed mother in providing 
the necessaries of life for themselves and the two 
younger children. Many a supperless night had she 
crept sobbing to her bed. 

It was at a picnic, given under the auspices of the 
Sunday school she attended — along the banks of the 
pellucid stream meandering through Hoboken, the 
famous Sluice Creek, that flows from the marsh 
lands at the south and west, on northward, past West 
Hoboken — where her boy cavalier had been super- 
seded by Mr. Catherwood. That person had taken a 
fancy to the pale face and wistful eyes of the girl, 
and suddenly entertained the idea that it was time 


ii 


12 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


for him to marry, remembering solely the biblical 
injunction of St. Paul, which had a pertinent ap- 
plication to him personally, as he then believed. He 
prosecuted his suit so vigorously that the mother, 
awed by the magnificence of a man who wore a 
genuine diamond pin in the wide expanse of shirt 
bosom at that time in vogue, and gratified to think 
her daughter would have a home of her own — a dis- 
pensation of fortune never granted to her — gladly 
consented to let him take the child in marriage, in 
return for which complaisance her financial and 
bodily needs received considerable attention from 
the generous wooer. In fact, until her death, three 
years later, he enacted the popular role of the model 
son-in-law, though he had no ulterior motives in so 
doing. He aided her and the remaining children, 
James and Robert, by contributions from his pocket 
and by wholesome advice from his store of worldly 
wisdom, which led to her ending her days in peace 
and with the respect of her neighbors. The boys 
were then taken in charge by a relative — a Vermont 
farmer, who needed their help in return for their 
board and clothes — and Mrs. Catherwood had grad- 
ually ceased to hear from them as they, grew to man- 
hood and found homes of their own. The family ac- 
quaintances had prophesied misfortune when she 
married, forecasts based upon their belief in the old 
adage that to 

“ Change the name and not the letter, 

Change for worse and not for better.” 

She never knew this, but the poor little wife soon 
recovered from her fantastic love-dream. For three 


THE HOME OF MRS. CATHERWOOD. 13 

months she was madly, almost ferociously, in love, 
being imbued with an imaginative affection for the 
man whom strangers usually supposed to be her fa- 
ther — for such his appearance would indicate were 
their relations. Then, one by one, the illusions 
faded, and she knew at last that she had assumed a 
fancy to be a fact, and that she was mated to one 
whose characteristics grew daily more distasteful 
to her natural refinement of mind, whose obtuseness 
was in such strong contrast to her keen and rapidly 
developing intellect that it excited her contempt. 
He often found her in tears, but she could never 
give him an explanation of the cause. How could 
he possibly understand ! She knew that she wept for 
the lost youth taken from her — for the charm of a 
congenial love she would- never know. At eighteen 
she felt like an old woman. She wore a maturity of 
look that was painful to see. 

Catherwood was thriving in his business, but he 
was of an economizing disposition, and did not re- 
gard picnics and entertainments as a necessity. To 
him they were a luxury, and indulgence of this kind 
should only be had at long intervals. So the girl- 
wife, who rapidly grew into the cares of womanhood 
with her childish longings still unsatisfied, though 
she was properly clothed and fed, was starved in brain 
and soul. There was no giddy nature in her desires, 
for she was rather religiously inclined ; but she was 
being deprived of the opportunities of enjoying the 
spontaneities of youth, and she had an artistic tem- 
perament which craved the poetry of life as illus- 
trated in the theatres, art f galleries, museums, and 
books. She was only allowed an opportunity to 


14 THE CATHE1W00D MYSTERY. 

realize her aspirations in the last, and, by chance 
and jot — sometimes by the use of a trifling deception 
— she consumed all the literature that libraries or her 
scantily filled purse could furnish ; for the husband, 
while paying promptly all bills she contracted for 
the legitimate uses of the household, did not believe 
in supplying a wife with an abundance of spending- 
money, and invariably kept the strings pulled quite 
tight on what he was pleased to term prodigality. 

The coarse cloth slippers he wore, which were run 
down at the heels, with a hole or two in the sides, 
and which he displayed ostentatiously as, wrapped 
in a faded pea-jacket (an “excuse” for a dressing- 
gown) , he mounted his feet upon a chair while read- 
ing the evening paper at the home fireside, were all 
emblematical of his individual system of parsimony. 
The stale brier-wood pipe from which he puffed 
generous clouds of second-rate tobacco was his only 
self-indulgence ; but the nicotine-ladened atmosphere 
was sickening to the nostrils of his wife. 

Extensive and judicious reading had taken, for 
Mrs. Catherwood, the place of a liberal education. 
The few volumes of classical standing she had 
collected to form her library — a proceeding which 
her husband regarded with some contempt, if not 
outspoken scorn — were as well known to her as the 
familiar lines of a text-book are to the earnest stu- 
dent. The few thumb-marks upon them were the 
imprint of his own greasy fingers as he had handled 
them in careless curiosity. 

How and when the rapturous affection for her 
husband died from her heart she could not have told 
if she had been asked. She only knew that about 


THE HOME OF MRS. CATHERWOOD. 1 5 

three years after the birth of her daughter (she was 
then twenty-one), when her husband walked into the 
trim little parlor and told, her with the first display 
of agitation she had ever seen in him, that he was 
a ruined man — that some speculation in sugar had 
been his financial undoing, and that he must seek 
new fields of enterprise to recover his lost fortune — 
she did not grieve at the thought that he was going 
away and she might never see him again, or that this 
peaceful home was broken into by some new condi- 
tion — some factor that would change all the old life. 
She did know, and she hugged the baby to her breast 
in frightful dismay of her own wicked feeling, that 
she would be rather glad than otherwise to have 
him go. 

Jabez Catherwood was not an object of interest. 
To describe him briefly, he was “lanky.” Bodily 
he was tall and thin, with light hair and a reddish 
straggling beard on cheek and chin. His tout en- 
semble was that of a country storekeeper, and he now 
looked fully ten years older than when he married 
her. His ready-made clothes hung ungracefully 
upon his sloping shoulders, and his trousers and 
boots belonged to the type denominated as unclassi- 
fied. She had added but little in her appearance of 
age since then, and the fragile girl of sixteen had 
become a lovely woman with soft dark eyes, abun- 
dant nut-brown hiar, and a svelte graceful form that 
was only well -developed maidenhood. 

The dwelling in which they lived — a plain three- 
story brick building, as undistinctive as a house 
could be — had a year before been deeded to her, and 
thus a protecting roof was a present mainstay. The 


1 6 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

financial wreck was not complete, and her husband 
had been able to place a few hundred dollars in the 
bank for her support after his departure. It was not 
a sorrowful parting to either, though there were re- 
grets and painful retrospection. He had grown cal- 
lous and selfish, and, in some indefinite sense, blamed 
his wife, believing that if he had remained single this 
misfortune would not have come upon him. Con- 
scious of the knowledge that she had carefully heeded 
his admonitions and attended to his comforts, and 
that she had been faithful to her marriage relation — 
not in the meaning of proving recreant to the vows 
made at the altar, however — she was indifferent to 
his opinions or his actions. The love that in the 
fervor of her first passionate dream she imagined had 
been aroused in her breast had died a slow, painless 
death, and nothing remained to fill the vacancy but 
the consolation of her religious belief. 

Only for the child that had come to bless her 
inane existence, she might have grown to hate the 
incubus in the shape of the man whose name she 
bore. But this enormity was spared her. Her heart 
had not been awakened, and though she knew there 
was something lacking in her life, she did not im- 
agine the cause. Never had there come to her the 
words of the poet : 

“ I have another life I long to meet, 

Without which life my life is incomplete. 

Ah ! sweeter self, like me, art thou astray, 

Trying with all thy soul to find the way 
To mine? Straying like mine, to find the breast 
On which alone can weaiy heart find rest!’* 

He must go elsewhere to make a new start in life, 


THE HOME OF MRS. CATHERWOOD. 1 7 

and she could not bear him company, as they both 
agreed. It would be a relief to be freed from his 
prosy comments on such uninteresting subjects as 
the fluctuating price of eggs, bacon, and potatoes. 
She didn’t possess the slightest relish for trade, and 
had no genius for buying or selling. She had ad- 
mitted this freely to him, often, always to his intense 
disapprobation ; and she was proud of her inability 
or ignorance, as he called it. 

The day of his departure, he shuffled into the par- 
lor, and, standing before her, began speaking, in an 
injured tone of voice. “ S’ posing I don’t git into 
business until your money is gone that you have in 
the bank, Mariah. I can’t give you a cent more till 
I earn some, unless they settle that case of mother’s 
family, down in Virginia — the one of Peck versus 
Burden,* you know.” 

“That’s where the ‘infant heir’ died some years 
ago, at the age of seventy, ” she interpolated with quiet 
scorn. “I shouldn’t think you would have much 
hope of retrieving a fortune from that.” 

“I don’t, Mariah,” and the nasal twang to his 
speech was very pronounced; “but a few dollars 
would be welcome now,” he continued, deprecat- 
ingly. “ The question is, If I don’t git hold of some 
money for a year or two, what will you do?” 

“I haven’t thought much about it, Jabez. ” In 
truth, she hadn’t given the subject a moment’s con- 
sideration. “ But I believe I can get along. I might 
try keeping boarders — just one or two, to make it a 


* This famous suit, after being in court (Augusta Co.) about a hundred 
years, was finally settled, in June, 1891, granting $15,000 to almost 
innumerable heirs. 


2 


1 8 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

private family arrangement. I presume my knowl- 
edge of books will also help me.” 

“Books!” and he spoke with an undisguised sneer 
and a cutting, sarcastic tone. “ Lots of good they’ll 
do you ! Better sell them to a second-hand shop. It 
ain’t in you to be a literary character. Do you think 
you can git a place as liberian?” 

Mr. Catherwood’s accents were not refined and his 
language was not always grammatical. Even his 
pronunciation was faulty. Just at present there 
was a hateful tension in his voice, as if he was de- 
sirous of rousing his wife to some exhibition of an- 
noyance or ill-feeling ; but only the expression of con- 
tempt on her face deepened. In his rough, expres- 
sive vernacular, he had been obliged “ to hoe his own 
row” since the day he became an orphan at his home 
in Poughkeepsie, and had come to New York City to 
clerk in a grocery store, which line of trade he had 
conducted for the past fifteen years, establishing him- 
self in business out of the hard-earned savings of his 
youth and early manhood. There had been no op- 
portunity for giving himself an education, for which 
he had little inclination, however; and his sole am- 
bition, if he possessed a sufficient mental aim to be 
dignified by that term, was to get “ a pile of money,” 
upon 'which he would exist the latter years of his 
life with a virtuous and self-satisfied complacency of 
mind in knowing that he had done no man wrong. 
And this was true. He had been honest. But 
neither his capabilities nor his mental energies were 
great ; and even in the one line of endeavor to which 
he had give the best years of his life, the result had 
been failure. There were some undefined sentiments 


THE HOME OF MRS. CATHERWOOD. 1 9 

in this man’s mind — some cravings to which he had 
never dared give verbal expression; but he knew 
that with great wealth he would be a different per- 
sonage from what he was now — a great philanthro- 
pist, or, possibly, a great scoundrel ; and there really 
isn’t much difference between the two. His as- 
sociates could have told you that he was a well- 
meaning sort of fellow, thoroughly reliable, but not 
particularly brilliant. His enemies, who were few, 
for he was non-combatant and non-communicative, 
said he was weak ; or, if they were especially un- 
kind, called him heavy and stupid. 

So, much should be forgiven Jabez Catherwood — 
his inelegance of speech, from lack of youthful facili- 
ties to better his use thereof; his harsh words, be- 
cause at forty-six he is a sour, dispirited man, ruined 
in pocket, and aware in some indistinct way that his 
wife cares little for him and has no sympathy to offer. 
To his coarse mind, it was about even. 

She was a disappointment. That girlish love of 
hers didn’t last long. He ought to have married a 
woman who would have been of assistance to him — 
some one who would “ have taken hold of things” 
and, if necessary, helped him about the store. But, 
no; she had moped when in the house, must needs 
have a servant, and would rather read tiresome books 
than darn his socks. He had been forced to confess 
to himself that he didn’t understand women ; but 
then, as thousands of other men, many of them with 
much finer intellectual acumen than he was known 
to possess, had made the same acknowledgment, 
there was nothing novel in this reflection. 

A beam of hope comes to him, however, while he 


20 


THE CATHERW00D MYSTERY. 


muses, and he sees a future in which he may have 
wealth untold — in which there will be comfort and, 
yes, perhaps love for him. Unwittingly, he strikes 
his forehead with his open hand. That is the 
thought, the ignis fatuus of his sterile brain, whose 
fitful flashes and illusory whispers have stirred his 
dormant faculties for weeks, months, years past. 
Yes, love! such as a girl way back in the times gone 
by showed him — a tender-hearted maiden, who was 
willing to be his abject slave when he was a curly- 
headed chap, but, with all the unappreciativeness 
of youth, he had been indifferent. What devotion 
she gave him! How the love-light shone in her 
pretty, dark eyes! Once, he remembered, she had 
raised his hand to her lips and kissed it, fondly, with 
childish impetuosity. Ah! life was couleur-de-rose 
then. And when she was offended at his stupidity, 
what a lively, scornful moue she made at him ! He 
drew in his breath with a whistling sound, as if 
ready to taste the cheek of a luscious peach. It 
caused the stagnant blood to throb in his flaccid veins. 
Oh for a year of that boyhood, with its glorious im- 
pulses and its rose-colored hopes and giant-like faith ! 
He would gladly give his life for that. The wishing 
was delirious pain. She went on the stage, for she 
was talented, became a great actress of emotional 
plays, lived a life full of scandals, and died, worn 
out, at forty-two. He had thought of going to see 
her play a few years before, when she was filling an 
engagement at the Union Square Theatre; but it 
was an expensive luxury, and he did not want to 
take time from his business. If he had married her ! 
She would have been a better woman, perhaps, and 


THE HOME OP MRS. CATHERWOOD, 21 

he would have saved the thousands that flittered 
through her hands like drops of water. They 
wouldn’t have evaded his grasp. What tiny, pink- 
tinted fingers she did have ! 

Certainly no one would have imagined, from the 
outline of his vacuous features, that Jabez Cather- 
wood could ever have had his soul swayed by such 
poetical and fiery longings. Possibly he was an ex- 
ception to the art of the physiognomist. Nothing 
could be more foreign to his personnel than an amatory 
disposition. Such were his vagaries as he gazed 
down upon the placid-looking woman, sitting in a 
rocking-chair, who did not know that his stony glare 
indicated the restraint that only prevented him from 
cursing her — he trembling with rage. He could just 
begin to understand why some men were so brutal 
as to beat their wives, and he was dimly conscious of 
the reason why constant “nagging” would prompt a 
man to make of himself a voluntary widower. 

She had done her part toward keeping the house 
in order — had attended to his comfort, cooked just 
what and how he liked; but there had been a void — 
a lack of method or manner. He was unable to ex- 
plain. She couldn’t be accused of extravagance, 
though the furniture and furnishings had cost him 
many a dollar, and there was a handsome carved 
case well filled with books, some of them in costly 
binding. As his eyes roved over them he became 
maddened, and repeated, in a coarser and more scorn- 
ful tone: “ Presume you’ll be a liberian, do you?” 

His wife raised her eyes, soft and brilliant, from 
the shadow of their ophidian lids, apparently in won- 
der at his loud, threatening voice, but answered 


22 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


calmly: “I haven’t thought of it, Jabez. But I 
shall not remain idle while you are away. There 
are many situations that a woman can fill, and I 
shall do my best. Then, I intend to see that Nellie 
gets what neither of us had — a good education.” 

“S’pose ’cause I didn’t have an eddication I 
couldn’t git along with the store!” he continued, 
shifting uneasily on one leg and throwing one foot 
across the other as he rested his elbow on the mantel- 
piece. “Is that it?” he questioned his ire raising 
at the remembrance of the money he had lost, and 
his wrath accelerated against his wife because of her 
quiet dignity. 

“ No, I didn’t say that, nor did I think it. But, 
you know, education fits us for better things ” 

“ Better things ! Fiddlesticks! Eddication can’t keep 
the market from going ag’inst you, as it did me. 
Give her all the eddication you please, but don’t larn 
her to despise her dad ’cause he ain’t a scholar. I 
won’t have it.” 

“You needn’t fear. I know what is due you as a 
father, and I shall not let Nellie forget it. She shall 
be taught ” 

“Fine words, marm,” he interrupted again; “but 
they don’t do me any good. My gal is not to be 
brought up ag’inst her dad, I tell you,” he retorted 
with much insistence of tone. “Some time, I’ll 
come back here with plenty of money for her” and 
his manner was prophetic. 

“I hope so, Jabez. We shall wait and pray for 
you. ” 

“There, don’t be sanctermonous ! Do the right 
thing — that’s all I ask. Don’t let her turn aginst her 


THE HOME OF MRS. CATHERWOOD. 


23 


dad,” and there is a pathetic entreaty in the voice of 
the man who was never known to have a spark of 
sentiment. The “baby” was the only object in life 
now that appealed to his heart. 

“You’re well fixed here, and I’ll send on some 
cash jist as fast as I kin raise it. ” 

There was a little more desultory conversation, 
and when silence fell upon them she rose and turned 
away to pack in his hand-satchel the few belongings 
he would take. Surreptitiously he made his way to 
the nursery, and kissed and fondled the sleeping 
child, who awoke with a startled and hungry cry ; 
and then, swinging it in his arms, as he attempted 
to sing a lullaby, he hushed it to sleep again with 
heart-broken fervor. With a feeling of despair he 
retraced his steps down the stairs, clutched at his 
well-worn carpet-sack when handed to him, gave 
his wife’s cheek a brush with his lips, and re- 
ceived a cold salute from her. Saying “ Good- 
by,” hurriedly, and running from the doorway, he 
jumped upon a horse-car — from Fifty-ninth Street 
to the Astor House — without a farewell glance 
toward the nervous woman who watched him depart 
or the house he had left forever. With faltering 
steps the wife returned to the parlor, and, sinking 
upon her knees by the lounge, burst into a violent 
paroxysm of tears. Of grief? — hardly. Of relief? — 
it is possible. 


I 


CHAPTER III. 


i 


ARRIVAL OF THE TRAIN. 

June 17th has for more than a century been a 
memorable day in our national history, and so it was 
of individual import to several people — who, how- 
ever, cared little for the commemoration of the Battle 
of Bunker Hill — in the good year of our Lord, 1873. 
Jabez Catherwood had been granted, under a final 
dispensation of Providence, the wish of his life, and 
largely by sheer luck had become possessed of a very 
productive mining property, one-half of which he 
had sold, rumor stated, for a million dollars. From 
his remaining share, a generous dividend was guar- 
anteed him, payable every six months. But he had 
endured many privations ; he had struggled and suf- 
fered during the greater part of his stay in the West, 
and now he remembered sadly, as he stepped down 
from the train at Jersey City and went briskly for- 
ward to the slip, that it was nearly ten years since last 
he had seen the surging waters of the Hudson. He 
gazed with delight at the myriad craft of sail and 
steam that was darting up and down and across the 
heaving billows of the North River, with yachts, 
cat-boats, bum-boats, and naval vessels lying lazily at 
anchor down the Bay over toward the shores of Long 
Island. Hurrying forward to the left for the ferry- 
24 


ARRIVAL OF THE TRAIN. 


25 


boat to cross to Desbrosses Street, he sniffed the 
afternoon breeze with keen delight. 

“Nothing like it, Stella, anywhere else in the 
world. There’s a scent of home in the very wind,” 
he said to his companion, a robust young woman 
with large, bold black eyes and a form of voluptuous- 
ness in its outline, richly clothed in silk and lace — a 
rather too gorgeous combination of beaded bonnet 
and flaming feathers resting upon the brow that was 
partly hid by fluffy hair of a straw color. She ap- 
parently had lately had access for the first time to a 
plethoric pocket-book, and had utilized its contents 
in arraying herself in habiliments of costly value 
with but little knowledge of the canons of good taste 
in dress, or else with a wilful ignorance of appro- 
priate blendings. In the language of the vulgar, 
she did not look “genteel.” Her escort was clad in 
a well-made suit of broadcloth that fitted him quite 
snugly ; his plain black tie was knotted carefully, 
and his new silk hat reflected the rays of a warm 
sun. He presented a better appearance than did the 
gaudily attired female who clung with an affected 
air of pride to his arm. Jabez Catherwood was now 
in his fifty-sixth year, but his self-imposed exile to the 
country west of the Rocky Mountains had improved 
his looks. He was heavier and straighter, and there 
was the air of the prosperous man about him. A 
rather ostentatious display of jewelry, which he con- 
sidered tangible evidence of wealth, only detracted 
from his tout ensemble. They both presented a strik- 
ing appearance, but bore with proper nonchalance 
the stares of the usual motley throng of passengers. 

“ Of course, I wrote my wife that I was coming, 


26 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


but I’m not going home at once. Don’t know 
whether I’ll go there at all. She’s done without me 
for several years, and she kin wait a few hours 
longer. The old lady and I must separate anyhow 
[this allusion to a supposed venerable female was for 
the purpose of further impressing his companion of 
a disparity in age that must necessarily exist be- 
tween himself and Mrs. Catherwood], and the sooner 
she gits that fact fhsed in her mind the better. I 
must tend to you fust, dear,” he concluded with a 
chuckle and an attempted look of lover-like fervor 
in his pale blue eyes — eyes which looked firmer and 
stronger, however, than they did when he had last 
gazed upon the scene before him. 

He was a successful mine operator now, and the 
sense of defeat and worry did not linger about his 
face as it had a decade ago. He acted leisurely ; his 
movements indicated careless ease, and he seemed 
to be desirous of posing before the casual observer as 
one who lived only for enjoyment and pour passer le 
temps. There was general improvement in every- 
thing about himvbut his grammar — which was as 
slurring upon the memory of Goold Brown as ever. 

“ You’re so nice,” she whispered in return, pressing 
his arm. 

With great enthusiasm he pointed out the various 
steeples and towers of the city, and the location of 
the Battery ; told her of the peculiarities of Castle 
Garden; tried to show her the Narrows, and directed 
her attention to Weehawken Heights, in a revivifica- 
tion of his local geographical knowledge. As the un- 
wieldy boat bumped against the piles, she gave a little 
cry of surprise and assumed feminine nervousness. 


ARRIVAL OF THE TRAIN. 


27 


“ That’s nothing, Stella. We’re going into the 
dock all right,” and his voice was full of courageous 
assurance. Midst the rattling of chains and the 
shrill escape of loosened steam, the boat was fastened 
to the pier and they passed along over the walk 
under the sheds, and past the crowd of calling nui- 
sances of importunate hackmen and cab-drivers, her 
whole heart apparently wrapped up in the elderly 
individual who carried himself with a jaunty air and 
the pompous stride of a second-rate man who has 
finally reached the goal in affairs of finance and the 
heart. His mimicry of youthful elasticity was so 
marked as to invite the sarcastic comment of a by- 
stander, that he had “ a sort of bloom on the boom 
walk.” 

“To the Sinclair,” was his command to the obse- 
quious cabby, as he handed the fluttering divinity 
into the carriage, threw his satchel after her, and 
then lumbered into the vehicle. He had thought of 
the Metropolitan, with Niblo’s Theatre buried in its 
confines, and had reflected upon the inducements 
offered by the Grand Central ; but mature considera- 
tion led him to the conclusion that the hotel named 
suited his purpose best. As the hack trundled down 
to Grand Street and then up Broadway, he lifted his 
hat from the round bald head, allowing the wind to 
ruffle the few strands of hair still free from gray, and 
having much the blonde color of their youth. Then 
he stroked the heavy Burnsides, his only hirsute 
adornment, which were dyed a generous black. His 
entire personal adornment, to the four or five dia- 
mond rings of different sizes that sparkled on his big 
hairy fingers, was symbolical of the “ regardless of 


28 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


expense” principle. Replacing his head-covering, 
he slid one arm around the pliant waist of the gor- 
geous maiden, and drew her to him with a hug that 
nearly shattered the steel clasps of her corset. 

44 Home again, dearie ! Here’s where we’ll have 
fun all the day long; where money will buy any- 
thing you want; where I’ll shower gold upon you 
till you’re tired of me ; where ” What more con- 

clusions he would have reached will never be known. 
The salt air that he had engulfed in such apprecia- 
tive whiffs while crossing the river had irritated his 
nasal passages, or possibly had induced symptoms of 
a slight cold ; for just here he interrupted himself 
with a sneeze that sounded like the detonation of a 
dynamite cartridge, caused an involuntary shudder 
to pass over the form he held in his grasp, and 
startled the driver to such an extent that the fellow 
muttered in amazement, “Jiminy crickets!" But 
then a sneeze that will drown the surface roar of a 
New York street is not a common matter. Indeed, 
it ‘might have been classed as miraculous, for it is 
more than a phenomenon. She wanted to laugh, 
but, mindful of her interests, she buried her face in 
the folds of his coat, and with a plaintive cry choked 
the incipient giggle. 

“Oh! that could never be,” she gasped with her 
head lying upon his breast, in response to his remark 
relating to her possible future change of regard — 
nestling closer to him, if possible, with a simpering 
smile on the face she lifted to his that would have 
awakened disgust in a wiser man. 

“You have been too good to me,” and she threw 
one arm about his pudgy neck, while kissing him on 


ARRIVAL OF THE TRAIN. 


2 9 


his hard, rough cheek. By one mighty effort she 
strained a crocodile tear from the shining eyes that 
gazed straight into his with a fervid look of intense 
adoration, mildly tempered by gratitude. Then a 
little hand, red and stubby, however, as if the owner 
had done hard work with it in its early history — one 
bearing a faint reminder of scrubbing-brushes and 
dish-pans, but now redolent, of scented soap — patted 
him on the shoulder, and a voice that belonged to 
the hand murmured in his ear : “ I have never known 
what it was to love a man till I met you, Jabez.” 

“ Honor bright?” almost shouted the delighted, 
credulous man, who had been slowly recovering from 
the shock of that stentorian sneeze with an angry 
self-condemnation, in the belief that he had made 
himself an object of ridicule, his whole frame thrill- 
ing with this realization of a forty years’ dream. 
“You do love me, truly, for myself alone?” 

And the lying lips murmured assent, her breath 
tickling his ear: “For yourself alone, Jabez, dear. 
How could I do otherwise? You took me from dirt 
and poverty, and have made a lady of me.” 

A lady! Poor, abused word ! As if clothes or 
jewels or birth or family could bestow that inherent 
quality upon a woman — could confer upon her that 
nameless grace of bearing and breeding that needs 
no herald, no adventitious pomp or circumstance to 
proclaim her true worth, her inalienable right of be- 
ing a lady. There is no counterfeit presentment but 
what proclaims its own fictitious stamp. 

If they had been married, it would have been a 
miserable burlesque upon conjugal felicity; but as 
he only sustained the position of a protector to this 


30 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

gaudy creature, this display of amorous trifling, in 
which he presented the character of fool and she 
enacted the part of siren, was simply tiresome and 
nauseating. 

Just then a hurried glance told him they were 
near their destination, and a moment later they 
stopped at the hotel entrance. After a few whis- 
pered words of endearment, he saw her escorted to 
a room from whence he retraced his steps to the 
awaiting Jehu outside, and was driven to a boarding- 
house between University Place and Fifth Avenue, 
that he remembered as having seen advertised in the 
Herald of a few days before, when he had picked up 
a copy of that paper in Chicago. Why he should 
have chosen this method of procedure he might possi- 
bly have explained more fully than he had done to 
the young woman; but the only reason he gave him- 
self was, that he did not care to hasten back to the 
scenes of domestic infelicity. There was a longing 
in his soul to see his little girl, who must be, cer- 
tainly, a well-grown miss. He would make a lady 
of her. To-morrow he would send for her. As for 
Mrs. Catherwood, she must understand that he would 
insist upon a divorce, and if she was “sulky,” he 
would starve her into submission by withholding 
supplies. The milk of human kindness was not 
likely to generate cream in the heart of Jabez Cather- 
wood. If she was docile and would give him his 
freedom, even by collusion, he would settle a small 
fortune upon her. He did not seem to understand 
that his wife had certain legal rights, nor did he know 
that she was financially quite independent of him. 
At present, he needed a long rest; for though he 


ARRIVAL OF THE TRAIN. 


31 


would not confess it to the Miss Estelle Wagner who 
had been his compagnon-de-voyage, his age created some 
demands, and shortly after an early dinner he retired 
to his room, sleeping heavily until the last breakfast 
bell rang, at eight o’clock in the morning. 

The next day, Monday, he was busily engaged in 
various little errands, calling at the hotel, buying 
tickets for the evening’s performance at the Four- 
teenth Street Theatre, transacting business at the 
bank, receiving during the afternoon some visitors 
in his room, engagements with a hatter, tailor, etc. 
— for he intended to make a display of his wealth in 
personal attire at once, and in his vulgar desires 
hardly found the best good enough for him — and was 
found dead in his room the next morning, with the 
sickly glimmer of sunshine streaming through the 
lace curtains as the light fell upon his upturned face. 

The police investigations would probably reveal 
more facts. Certainly, he had not used the theatre 
tickets, for the undetached coupons were found intact 
in his vest pocket. His watch had stopped at 2 123 — 
probably at that hour in the morning. Was it the 
moment of his death? If he had fallen heavily, the 
jar would have stopped the watch. If not, the time- 
piece had simply run down. 


CHAPTER IV. 


SMALL EVIDENCE. 

At the preliminary hearing, the mistress of the 
boarding-house testified that Mr. Catherwood had, 
remained indoors from about three in the afternoon, 
but had informed her that, as soon as he had seen 
some tradesmen who would call upon him, he would 
leave, taking his evening’s repast at a restaurant, 
and would then attend a theatrical performance. He 
had asked for a latch or night key, and she had won- 
dered a trifle that he had not sent for it later; but 
the incident soon escaped her memory. There were 
about twenty people living in the house, and she 
paid but little attention to them, providing they came 
well recommended and paid their bills promptly. 

Mr. Catherwood, in lieu of the former desideratum 
— although she had a vague remembrance of his hav- 
ing been a previous resident of the city, and was, as 
he stated, at one time proprietor of a grocery on Sixth 
Avenue — paid a week’s board in advance, which was 
quite satisfactory to her. But she never troubled 
herself about the movements of her “ guests, ” and 
knew absolutely nothing of their goings and com- 
ings, although she was aware of their various oc- 
cupations. The chambermaid had tried to gain an 
entrance to his room, and when it was reported that 
the key was to be seen inside — she didn’t know 
32 


SMALL EVIDENCE. 


33 


whether the door was locked or not, but the catch 
had slipped — had called in a policeman, who forcibly- 
entered the apartment. She appeared to be grieved 
at the possible chance of her boarders leaving her en 
masse; for several had already removed on account of 
this horrible affair, and was “scandalized,’' as she 
expressed herself. This indicated she was from the 
South somewhere, because some of the few fashion- 
able residents who still retained their homes in the 
vicinity seemed to think she was to blame for ad- 
mitting such a person. 

Did he receive people in his room? Yes, half a 
dozen or more called, but she did not see any of 
them. The door-girl could furnish that information. 
And the last-named, with a very red face, an em- 
barrassed manner, and a Milesian accent, informed 
the magistrate, in response to his inquiry, that she 
admitted “siven gints and a lady.” Five of the 
former, it was already known, were business men of 
good repute. Their cards had been taken from the 
room. No suspicion could attach to them. Of the 
other two, one was described as a tall man with dark 
eyes and a white, severe face, while the last looked 
to the girl like a peddler. 

“ A peddler?” repeated the magistrate. 

“ Yis, sor; he carried a pack wid him.” 

“Which of these two men called first?” was his 
next question. 

“ I don’t remimber, sor.” 

“ Don’t remember? That’s strange.” 

“ To tell the truth, sor, the two gintlemin and the 
lady all called so near togither, sor, I disremimber 
which was fust or last, at all,” and she essayed a 
3 


34 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


smile, as indicating a self-possession she did not feel, 
but which only resulted in displaying her excessively 
red gums when she grinned. 

“ But who was the very last caller you admitted 
that evening?” 

“ The lady, sor,” and again she showed her large, 
white uneven teeth. 

“ Are you sure of that}” 

“ Dead sure, sor.” 

“ How do you remember that when you forget the 
other?” 

“ I don’t know, sor; but it’s true, it is.” 

“ How was she dressed?” 

“All in black, sor.” 

“ Did you see her face?” 

“No, sor.” 

“ Why not?” 

“ She had a kind of veil on. ” 

No subsequent cross-questioning or testimony from 
the other witnesses brought any more facts to light, 
as no one in the house — the clerks, an ex-widower, 
an elderly divorcee, a jocose bachelor, the melancholy 
man who played thrilling love-songs on the piano ; 
an ancient female* teacher, who believed she had a 
“mission”; a Mr. Fears, from Georgia, with the 
blatant talk of the half-educated cracker and the ex- 
cessive ill-breeding of his class; a middle-aged mar- 
ried coquette, who nursed her several chronic afflic- 
tions and had lively spats with her subjugated and 
stupid husband; and two or three other married 
pairs, quiet nonentities — none of these had heard any 
unusual noise, and nothing seemed to be known by 
any one between the times that the lady was admitted 


SMALL EVIDENCE. 


35 


and the body was found. The city physician who 
had been summoned at the inquest stated that he had 
carefully examined the dead body, and was positive 
that the murder must have been committed at least 
twelve hours previous to the discovery of the corpse. 
The magistrate was not able to elicit any further 
correlative information, and the evidence heard only 
established the fact that the crime had been com- 
mitted between the hours of five and ten the day 
before. The verdict of the coroner’s jury, “that Ja- 
bez Catherwood was murdered by parties unknown,” 
remained unquestioned. 

The following day, as the magistrate was intently 
examining a curious stiletto-like weapon of appar- 
ently foreign manufacture, and pondering over its 
ownership, he was visited by an acquaintance, the 
chief clerk and manager of the hotel before men- 
tioned, who told him that the “ female party” who 
had come to his house with the deceased had left 
hurriedly about ten o’clock on Monday night. Cath- 
erwood had called upon her at quite an early hour 
in the morning of that day, and from some words 
overheard by an employd it was conjectured that 
the two were going to the theatre that evening. The 
man’s infatuation was undisguised, and the woman 
acted “coy and affectionate.” She had hired a 
carriage during the afternoon, and went out osten- 
sibly on a shopping tour, and actually returned with 
quite a collection of bundles — store purchases, un- 
doubtedly — which still remained at the hotel. After 
supper she retired to her room. A few minutes past 
eight she sent word to the clerk then on duty, asking 
if Mr. Catherwood had called. Upon receiving a 


36 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

negative response she had immediately left the 
house, presumably on foot, and evidently greatly 
annoyed at his non-appearance, but returned an hour 
later, and in a very flurried, nervous manner ordered 
a cab to take her to the ferry, as she was leaving for 
the West on the eleven o’clock train by the Pennsyl- 
vania Road. Her only luggage was a small hand- 
satchel that could have contained little else than a 
few toilet articles. To-day, a handsome trunk she 
purchased had been sent to the hotel. The manager 
was desirous of knowing what disposition to make of 
these articles. He had been obliged to run up coun- 
try yesterday morning on business, and only knew of 
the murder by reading an account of the inquest upon 
his return late at night. That explained his delay 
in making these statements. This young woman 
displayed a large roll of bills when settling her ac- 
count, and was evidently very anxious to get away 
in haste. Still no suspicion had entered the hotel 
man’s mind that there was anything criminal con- 
nected with her actions. 

“What kind of a woman was she?” asked the ex- 
ponent of justice. 

“ Rather loud in her dress and very fresh in her 
manners. Seemed to be fully capable of taking care 
of herself. She came there as a friend or acquaint- 
ance of Catherwood,” and the speaker slowly winked 
his eye at the other. “ Of course, as long as she be- 
haved properly I couldn’t object. I didn’t see any 
effort on her part to attract attention, though the 
men would admire her stunning figure, and some of 
my lady patrons stared at her in dubious surprise 
when she was at the table. You know how women 


SMALL EVIDENCE. 


37 


are;” and to this last bit of social philosophy the 
magistrate nodded in sympathetic assent. 

“Yes, I see,” he added, verbally. “Do yon know 
what is possible, George? There’s been a quarrel 
about money matters between those two, and she be- 
came maddened and killed him. Dark, wasn’t she — 
something like a Spaniard? They’re a vindictive 
set,” and he shrugged his shoulders as if deprecating 
any intention of involving himself in a dispute with 
any one of that nationality. “ Nothing premeditated, 
of course, for this is Catherwood’s own knife, I be- 
lieve,” handing the dagger to his friend as he spoke. 
“ She was some cowboy sort of attachment that the 
old fellow picked up in the woolly West, and it may 
be he found out when he was at home that the con- 
nection wouldn’t stand our effete civilization, and 
probably in an attempt to make her understand this 
— he has a family here — she resented his object, and 
in a fit of jealous rage and anger seized upon the 
first weapon at hand (in this case, his knife) which 
he had taken from his pocket or valise and laid care- 
lessly on the table, perhaps, and stabbed him. It 
looks like it. I can’t understand, though, why he 
brought her here. In the slang of the day, he 
should have ‘shaken’ her before he started East. He 
must have had opportunity. Presumably, she has 
done it. I’ll send this news to the main office. 
Much of it is corroborative.” 

“ But I don’t believe your theory’s right, squire. 
I saw her just before her departure, and there was 
no such expression on her face as a guilty woman 
would have who had just come red-handed from the 
consummation of such a hideous crime. I hadn’t 


38 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


taken any interest in her, but she seemed agitated 
at some unexplained cause, or worried at some un- 
pleasant sight. If I had been asked, that night, to 
give my explanation of her uneasiness, I should have 
said that she had found Catherwood intoxicated, or 
had discovered some duplicity of conduct on his part. 
There was nothing of the horrible in her looks or 
actions; it was more the appearance of disgust. I’m 
not a detective, of course, but I don’t fail in judging 
human nature when I study it from my hotel counter. ” 
“My dear boy,” responded the other, stroking his 
full gray beard, speaking in a tone of weariness as if 
conscious of his superior knowledge of all things 
mundane — a burden that made him quite blast, and 
with a steely look in his eyes at this crude enthusiasm 
of his friend, which was only a veil to his ignorance 
of the inner workings of the mental and spiritual 
world — “ I have no theory to expand. I don’t mean 
to assert she is the guilty one — don’t say it’s as plain 
as the sunshine or use any other threadbare simile. 
The more appearances would indicate her connection 
with this murder, the less I might feel inclined to 
doubt her knowledge or complicity, unless premedita- 
tion could be proved. I’ve seen so much of crime, 
of wrong-doing, during my twenty j^ears’ experience 
on this bench, that I do not put the slightest faith in 
circumstantial evidence as ordinarily understood. 
Apparent motive, plausible reasons, are the veriest 
delusions if the accusation is one of prejudicial bias. 
The easier the elucidation of a crime seems the really 
more difficult it is of solution. Unless a man or 
woman is idiotic, they see at once that there must be 
suspicion if they have a motive in the death of any 


SMALL EVIDENCE. 


39 


one, and they don’t do it, unless in the heat of anger. 
A servant may poison her mistress in a spirit of re- 
venge. In the days of the aqua tofana , weary wives 
disposed of their husbands for the sake of the lover; 
and this method is not unknown at present even in 
the annals of our criminal records. But there is such 
a strong probability of detection that only weak- 
minded persons use that means. I really do believe 
that the perpetrator of this crime is one with suffi- 
cient genius to place murder on the scientific basis of 
a fine art. There is just one man, Hicks, on the de- 
tective force that can unravel this mystery, and it’s a 
terrible pity he’s away now. I don’t think the rest of 
them are worth their salt. It’s the possibility I look 
at. The boarding-house keeper may have killed 
him in a sudden frenzy of avarice at the sight of his 
money, prompted to secure some of his great wealth ; 
don’t you see? We don’t know what she saw. It is 
certain a woman killed him.” 

“ How do you know?” hastily asked the other, who 
was deeply interested in this strange conversation. 

“ How? Because the physician who examined the 
corpse, a man who knows his business thoroughly, 
declares that the wound was made upward, just as a 
woman always jabs a pair of scissors into an object. 
That’s brains. He also declares that the woman 
must be one of unusual muscular power, for the knife 
was buried almost to the hilt through the tough 
striated tissue of Catherwood’s body. That’s more 
brains. Now r , which woman was it? Your guest, 
possibly; but I don’t jump at conclusions. That 
Mrs. Pentricks was a bony sort of creature, and made 
a disagreeable impression upon me. You should 


40 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


have seen her lean, cadaverous face, thin, hard- 
pressed lips, and her fishy eyes. All indicates little 
moral power and an invincible determination. 
Couldn’t it have been that hearty Irish girl? He 
might have attempted some liberties with her, and 
she resented them to his cost. You can’t get people 
to confess in forty-eight hours necessarily. Con- 
science works very slowly with the best of us. She 
looked too innocent or stupid for that, of course. 
Bah ! The most vicious creature I ever had before 
me was a timid, shrinking girl with soft pleading 
eyes and a look of angelic resignation on her face. 
Her blushes were so constant and unremitting and 
so deep of hue, that it was quite painful for me to 
cross-examine her; and yet it was proved she swore 
like a trooper, smoked cigarettes, and drank beer by 
the bucket, and she actually confessed to the poison- 
ing of her aunt, her little brother, and a female 
boarder.* The last two died. Born criminal, of 
course. She is serving a life-sentence now. The 
facts you have given me must go to the office for 
consideration, that’s all. By the way,” changing 
his position in the chair, as he did also his tone of 
morbid sarcasm and evident assumption of worldly 
incredulity, “how was the woman — your young 
worn an — dressed ? ’ ’ 

“ In black silk and lace, with a sort of mantilla 
about her head which she threw gracefully over her 
bonnet. She had brought with her some of the 
toggery that the Spanish woman uses in California, 
you know.” 

* Similar was the case of Mary Metzdorf, of Baltimore, aged sixteen 
years. 


SMALL EVIDENCE. 


41 


“And don’t you see, again, my friend, that this 
description agrees with what the Irish girl said: ‘All 
in black, and a sort of veil on’?” 

“ Yes, but that would answer the description of ten 
women out of twelve just at present. I don’t be- 
lieve you have the right clew, squire. ” 

“ I don’t believe I have any clew — don’t pretend 
to possess any such wisdom,” responded the other, 
testily. “ I don’t believe in clews in the ordinary 
acceptation of the term. I’m almost tempted to 
say that I do not believe in anything,” and he 
changed the position of his feet nervously. “What 
are we to think of such a case as I had here last 
week, when it was proved by twenty competent, re- 
liable, honorable witnesses that the confession of a 
man to the robbery of a store was a falsehood, because 
he wasn’t within a hundred and fifty miles of the 
place at the time? It was a great success as an alibi. 
What form of sanity do you call that? ” and the cynical 
man of the world thumped his desk as he growled 
out the interrogatory. “ His motive!” he continued, 
in an exasperated tone. “ How do I know ; how do 
you know? Did he want security from the pangs of 
hunger? Did he imagine that no work, and the con- 
sequent starvation, might drive him to the despera- 
tion of taking a jump from an East River dock? It 
doesn’t matter,” spreading out his fingers as if wav- 
ing the subject aside. “Thank you for the informa- 
tion, George,” as, rising, he indicated that the inter- 
view was at an end, his perplexed visitor turning 
toward the doorway, where he met some new ap- 
plicant for justice hastily entering the legal portals. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE TWO BOARDERS. 

A night, three weeks later. The gas-jets were 
burning brightly, though the air was full of a sum- 
mer’s heat, and the window-screens had not wholly 
debarred the entrance of flies and gnats, who buzzed 
about in the cheerful dining-room of Mrs. Cather- 
wood’s home. There were four seated at the table: 
the hostess, her daughter Helen, a miss of nearly 
fourteen, and the two boarders, John C. Harrod and 
Charles Davis. A general utility girl in shabby 
attire swung a horsehair switch lazily over their 
heads, and occasionally aided in the handling of 
dishes. The first-named of the men was tall and 
straight-set, about twenty-eight years old* with black 
hair, dark mournful eyes, and a soft brown mustache 
of great luxuriance shading the excessive whiteness 
of his cheek and chin. Charles Davis was a nonde- 
script individual, anywhere from twenty-five to forty 
years old, who having had a considerable fortune left 
him in trust by his father, a successful tobacconist, 
was engaged in spending the income principally in 
feeding himself to an unlimited extent. He paid 
a good price for his board, and though he lingered 
long at the table, his room was always filled with 
an allotment of various fruits and assorted cakes, 
which he consumed in quietude. There were hourly 
42 


THE TWO BOARDERS. 


43 


lunches, in which he indulged also, while engaged 
in his peripatetic tours about town. Life had but 
one scope to him, and that was to eat. His horizon 
was bounded by food. 

In his daily walks, for years, rain or shine — “con- 
stitutionals,” he termed them — he had been in nearly 
every nook and corner of the city; but he seemed to 
glean but little information from the constant pano- 
rama of life before his eyes. Current events made 
no impress upon him. He lacked the power of ob- 
servation, and was at times so oblivious of his sur- 
roundings that he once unconsciously walked off a 
coal wharf at Harlem, and was only saved from 
drowning by the deck hand of a coaster, who lassoed 
him as he was sinking and pulled him to shore, land- 
ing him as if he were some marine monster. Davis 
had a horror of water ever afterward, and would 
even resent its appearance at meal-times as a bever- 
age. But then, few New Yorkers care to drain their 
Croton supply unmixed. Every form of amusement 
or recreation — exercise, reading, even singing — was 
tabooed by him under his oft-repeated statement 
that they only served “ to excite the brain.” Food 
was his fetich; mental rest his elysium. He was 
hardly non compos mentis — not in money matters, at 
least — though he had the simple-minded appearance 
of one, and was regarded as an object of curiosity by 
the rest of the household. He read the daily papers 
when they came to him without cost, or when the 
bulletin boards were not surrounded by two large a 
crowd to hamper his freedom of movement. 

Mrs. Catherwood was grateful to him, however, 
for coming to her assistance when she had first 


44 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


advertised “ meals and rooms for gentlemen in a 
private family,” as his prompt payments had aided 
her when remittances from Jabez were small and in- 
frequent, as they were during the first years of his 
absence. She even severely reproved Nellie, as her 
daughter had always fondly been called, for her mis- 
behavior in jesting at the figure, actions, and general 
infirmities of Davis. Then Mr. Harrod had become 
a member of her family, and she was thenceforth 
free fom any uneasiness regarding her ability to 
liquidate her table bills and those expenses necessary 
to the completion of the finished education she was 
trying to give her child. She supplemented her 
receipts by doing copying-work for libraries, her 
knowledge of books insuring accuracy of detail and 
statement, and by occasional sewing for her neigh- 
bors, as she had quite a local reputation for dainty 
patterns and originating delicate designs. She was a 
busy, contented woman while her husband was away. 

The last comer was what half-ignorant, unobserv- 
ing people called a mystery. Principally because 
he was self-sufficient, would not allow every one to 
impose acquaintance upon him, and did not readily 
enter upon details of his personal history in ordinary 
conversation. Educated at college, reared in afflu- 
ence, his father had disastrously failed in business 
soon after the son’s graduation, and then finished a 
burdened life by committing suicide. The young 
man was left to struggle with a world all the harder 
to him from the disaffection of so-called friends and 
the slights of those who had gladly claimed his atten- 
tion while he was a prospective heir to great wealth, 
and the new experience was rendered all the harder 


THE TWO BOARDERS. 


45 


by the sneers of others, who were overjoyed at his 
downfall because they had previously been envious 
of his position. He was in reality only a good 
young man of scholarly tastes, singularly free from 
petty vices, and had been the pride of a mother who 
lived long enough to direct aright his boyish inclina- 
tions. Alone in the world, with not the slightest 
aptitude for business, and with no knowledge of 
how to enter upon the struggle for bread, he turned 
in bewilderment from the corpse of his father to face 
this new hazard of fortune. Possessed of a strong, 
self-contained nature, he gave immediate attention 
to the exigences of the present, and soon realized 
from the sale of his personal effects, and from a small 
property that he had inherited from his mother, a 
few hundred dollars. He then entered a divinity 
school, with the humble purpose of devoting his life 
to the welfare of his fellow-man. He was “ a bright 
light ” in the Presbyterian Seminary, where his pol- 
ished scholarship and his logical mind were admired 
and respected. But a second misfortune befell him ; 
a brimming cup of misery was held to his lips. 

Attending an alumni meeting at Yale College, he 
had met the sister of an old schoolmate who knew his 
story, and the sympathy she had felt for the unseen 
man turned to love for the gracious gentleman who 
was a friend of her brother. It was the first strong 
passion of his life, and his heart and ambition were 
fired in this new sweet joy, that came to him with the 
assurance from her lips that she “ cared ” for him. 
He accepted it as a recompense for the sorrow that 
had come to him. They met but seldom, as the rail- 
road trips from central New York to New Haven 


4 6 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


were not only tiresome, but were a demand upon his 
purse that he could not easily yield. But letters, 
long and closely written, breathing their mutual de- 
votion, passed semi-weekly between them. Once he 
had met her while she was visiting at the house of a 
relative in Utica, and those hours — in which they 
made their hopes and aspirations one — in which the 
lovely disposition of the woman and the grand char- 
acter of the man were thoroughly revealed to one 
another; the fleeting moments he passed in her com- 
pany, and the promised joy that was to be his — were 
a memory to him all his life sweeter than the fra- 
grance of roses. 

It was the last time he saw her. Two months 
later, while with her brother and a party of friends 
sailing on Long Island Sound, the yacht was caught 
in a sudden squall, capsized, and among the five per- 
sons drowned was his betrothed. The news, sent to 
him in a hastily despatched telegram, nearly un- 
seated his reason. He hastened to the scene of the 
disaster in a dazed condition, having no other sense 
than that of a painful tugging at his heart-strings, as 
if life was being choked out in him. The body was 
never recovered, and after waiting weary days on 
the sands washed by the treacherous waters that had 
engulfed his loved one, walking the long, dreary 
streets of Flushing at night to help quell the tumult 
within his breast, he returned to New York City a 
broken-hearted man. In his grief and rage against 
the dictates of heaven he had almost cursed the exist- 
ence that was a burden to him, had refused to con- 
tinue the preparation for the ministry, and had de- 
clined sympathy and proffered aid from the family 


THE TWO BOARDERS. 


47 


whose bereavement was as great as his. He became 
a prey to melancholy. Like one prostrated beyond 
his physical strength, there followed a relapse, in 
which his mental nature changed, and, entertaining 
socialistic theories and incendiary beliefs, he had 
even given expression to them in some of the Fourth 
Ward meetings to which he had gained access, led 
there by those who knew of his dissatisfied life and 
who thought they saw in him the qualities which cre- 
ate the martyr. The police had his name on their 
list. He was among those enumerated as a suspect. 
But a second sober thought came to him later : he 
saw the dreadful chasm upon whose brink he stood, 
the wickedness and viciousness of those who in their 
effrontery would array labor against capital with 
sword and fire-brand to serve their own criminal in- 
terests; and he withdrew from the contaminating 
association. It was the only epoch in his life that 
always gave him a sensation of shame. Though the 
dictates of common sense resumed control, he still 
persisted in his vow to leave uncompleted his theo- 
logical studies, and commenced a course of legal 
reading in the office of a leading practitioner down 
town. His means, rapidly growing limited, would 
not allow him the benefits of a law school, and he 
found the necessary opportunities of adding to his 
small store of money by writing an occasional special 
article for the press. It was at this time, while seek- 
ing quiet and comfortable lodgings, that he saw Mrs. 
Catherwood’s advertisement. He made immediate 
application to be received as an inmate of her do- 
mestic circle, and was accepted. She seemed favor- 
ably impressed with his courteous demeanor, sorrow- 


4 8 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


ing expression and high moral purpose, as written 
upon the face and brow of the man from whose white 
forehead the dark hair was thrown carelessly back in 
wavy profusion. As she gleaned his life’s history 
from detached personal statements that fell from his 
lips, her whole heart went out in tender sympathy to 
him, which kindly feeling was shown in careful at- 
tention to his home comforts, a daily inspection of 
the needs of his wardrobe, and often in the setting 
of a dainty dish by his plate. Davis, with the only 
pronounced mental characteristic he possessed — that 
of envy — saw this latter movement, which he regarded 
as an especial encroachment upon his rights, and 
muttered to himself with an invidious shake of his 
head that “ Harrod must be a sort of star boarder.” 
As the first auxiliary of the family, he thought him- 
self entitled to the first display of generosity upon 
the part of his landlady, and had some thought of 
wreaking a mild vengeance upon her by changing 
his residence, and, as he supposed, thus curtailing 
her receipts, unaware of the change in her financial 
circumstances ; which plan was forestalled before he 
had committed himself, by his receiving notice from 
her that she should decline keeping boarders after 
the expiration of the present week. This he under- 
stood to include Harrod with himself, and was grati- 
fied to know that his associate at the table could no 
longer be the recipient of special delicacies that were 
not presented to himself. 

Contented with this cheerful prospect, Davis was 
gormandizing in an unusually happy frame of mind. 
It was perfectly natural that a woman with the fort- 
une she had received from her late husband, and 


THE TWO BOARDERS. 


49 


with the large prospective dividends to be paid her 
from that Western mine (reputed to be a wonderful 
success) would hardly care to be bothered by serv- 
ing the appetites of two men who were nothing to 
her. Neither did Davis know that the young law- 
yer had taken from her the great burden of arrang- 
ing for the funeral ceremonies of the deceased, had 
paid the undertaker’s bill, and, acting as proxy, had 
attended to the sepulture. He had also kept ubiqui- 
tous reporters of the press from interviewing her, 
while shielding her from all the annoyances nat- 
urally connected with this unfortunate event. 

The daughter had looked upon her dead father’s 
face, but the widow had not entered the chamber 
where lay the remains of her husband. Her com- 
posure was wonderful, but she had sought the seclu- 
sion of her room upon the return of the small funeral 
cortege , and did not appear until the following day. 
If there was any outpouring of grief, it had not left 
visible traces upon her face. Her manner was un- 
changed to those about her. She had little trouble 
in asserting her legal claims, thanks to her lawyer’s 
intervention and assistance, and after her appearance 
in court with her attorney, who was one of the mem- 
bers of the firm under whom Harrod had studied, 
was left undisturbed in her retirement. She would 
not allow the presence in the house of any paper con- 
taining details of the crime. Though she was trem- 
ulously excited for some days, she quickly regained 
all her placidity and Quaker-like demureness of old, 
and the household arrangements moved on with lit- 
tle indication of the tragedy that had so affected the 
lives of mother and daughter. 

4 


50 THE CATHERW00D MYSTERY. 

Mrs. Catherwood sat at the head of the table, 
dressed in black — a slightly modified form of wid- 
ow’s weeds that fitted neatly her lithesome figure 
—the sombreness of the raiment only relieved 
by a plain white collar fastened with a jet brooch. 
She was mindful of the conventionalities of life, 
but she made no pretence of heart-broken sorrow- 
ing for the memory of a man for whom she had 
years before ceased to have even a feeling of respect. 
Miss Helen, who experienced a grievous stroke to 
her childish heart when first told of the death of her 
father — the facts had come to them through the 
newspaper columns — after indulging in some extrav- 
agant sobbings and hysterical conduct had rapidly 
recuperated from the shock, the cause of which must 
have been an undefined sentiment, as she had never 
known any caress from the man whose existence she 
only dimly remembered till she saw him lying in his 
coffin. There was not even a baby doll or a single 
plaything in her possession to connect her with the 
father of her childhood. Neither she nor the mother 
knew that the silver necklace with a pendant star, in 
the centre of which gleamed a brilliant diamond, so 
carefully wrapped in a blue plush box, was intended 
as a present to “ the little girl ” he had longed to see 
for so many weary years, from the man stricken down 
so suddenly. 

Davis’ bete-noir, the lawyer, sat talking at intervals, 
cheerful in tone but restrained in manner, as if there 
was a hampering thought, some recollection he could 
not put aside. But this was habitual with him. 
The other man only grunted his desires, pointing to 
some article of food with the solitary words, “ bread, ” 


THE TWO BOARDERS. 


51 


“ coffee/' “beans." The daughter prattled merrily 
of her school-day experiences, and the mother list- 
ened, patiently, dutifully attentive to all, and speak- 
ing but seldom. 


CHAPTER VI. 


DEVELOPMENTS. 

At the conclusion of the evening’s meal the fam- 
ily separated. The haired girl wearily removed the 
dishes from the table, pausing at intervals to take a 
mouthful of some delicacy as a gastronomic incentive 
to her repast in the kitchen, the daughter going to 
the piano for her regular one hour’s practice. There 
is no feeling of compassion in a young girl for the 
injury done to sensitive nerves. Davis wended his 
.way into the streets to partake of an additional lunch 
and for the subsequent purchase of viands for a mid- 
night attack or to break his fast before the welcome 
bell had rung in the morning. He possessed the one 
grand virtue, if we are to accept Franklin’s precept, 
of being an early riser, though in this instance it 
was of no material benefit to mankind, except that 
he hastened to decrease the sum total of the world’s 
produce. His principle of tariff reform was an ex- 
tremely practical one. Its feasibility is to be com- 
mended, and should attract the attention, if not the 
sympathy, of the professional politician. 

The tall young man, after completing a brief toilet 
in his room, had descended to the parlor, stopping 
at the door. Mrs. Catherwood, having given a final 
supervision of the servant’s work, appeared a few 
minutes later from the dining-room and looked at 
52 


DEVELOPMENTS. 53 

him wonderingly as he stood hat atnd cane in hand; 
for it was seldom he left the house at night. 

“ Going out, Mr. Harrod?” with an accent of sur- 
prise in her voice. 

“Yes, there is a lecture, and I must listen to an 
exponent of some of the intricacies of the law, this 
evening. I waited, because I desired to speak to you 
of some matters. Naturally, I do not suppose you 
care to retain your boarders any longer, and I am 
willing to take my departure whenever it suits your 
pleasure.” (Davis had hastened to impart the news 
to him that the widow would close the house in a few 
days.) 

“Going away, Mr. Harrod!” The color left her 
cheeks only to be succeeded by a delicate flush that 
mantled her entire face, while one hand went nerv- 
ously to her head in a vain attempt to smooth the un- 
ruffled bands of hair. Never before had he seen the 
serenity of this woman’s look unchanged, and he 
marvelled at her flurried movements. Her hazel 
eyes glistened, the gleam of her white teeth showed 
beneath the partly opened lips as they almost chat- 
tered, and her bosom fell and rose in palpitating un- 
dulations. As he gazed upon her he was surprised 
to see that a little excitement made her a very beau- 
tiful woman, almost lovely. He was not susceptible 
to female charms, but he wondered now that he had 
never noticed how charmingly she was attired and 
what a captivating look she presented. She had, in 
common parlance, carried her age well. She might 
have passed for twenty-five, and, though she was 
four years his senior, really appeared to be the 
younger of the two. 


54 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


“There is no necessity for your doing- so,” she 
said softly, as soon as she had recovered from her 
momentary agitation. “ Mr. Davis has been in- 
formed that we do not care to retain him longer. He 
is so gross in his eating, and so very objectionable 
otherwise, that it is a relief to have him go; but with 
you it is quite different. I understand your allu- 
sions to my changed circumstances,” and she ended 
the sentence with a gentle sigh. “ It is true that I 
shall soon move from here, but I — that is, we — Nellie 
and I — look upon you as one of the family. We are 
both orphans, Mr. Harrod, you and I,” looking up 
at him for the first time since she had been startled 
into the exclamation of surprise at his speech, with 
a sweet smile that intensified the dimples in her 
cheeks, “ and I need some man — some gentleman, 
rather (she corrected herself, nervously) — to stay 
with us as a bond of protection. Later, perhaps,” 
and now she had regained her composure, and the 
fluttering hands at last were under control, “ if it is 
not pleasant for you, you may make other arrange- 
ments; but we cannot spare you for the present.” 

“ It is very kind in you, Mrs. Catherwood,” he re- 
plied, feeling unconscious of any incongruity in such 
a peculiar request coming from a woman, “ and I 
must really tell you it is a great solace tome to know 
that I need not change. I should hate to leave here 
and seek other ‘quarters,’ for I have an intense dis- 
like of the ordinary boarding-house, and I could 
never find another home like this.” 

“And I am glad that you will not go. You will 
simply remain with us as our guest, our old family 
friend. ” Once more, a furtive smile passed over her 


DEVELOPMENTS. 


55 


face and converted her into a woman where love and 
passion seemed to cling to every feature and to glo- 
rify her presence. The man, who towered half a foot 
above the woman before him, had never known any 
feeling of conceit, nor had he ever supposed that there 
was anything in his personality to attract the female 
eye. His face indicated nobility of character, but 
only his brilliant black eyes redeemed his features 
from positive plainness. He was lithe and supple, 
and possessed what is usually termed a clerical figure. 
Mrs. Catherwood’s kindness was a consolation to him, 
for his surroundings had been very pleasant and he 
was loath to leave them. He was quite satisfied to 
go with them elsewhere. The locality itself was not 
a desirable one. He felt a new interest in her, and 
a sensation crept into his heart he could not define. 
It was impalpable, but possibly it meant tender grat- 
itude. There was no time for analysis then. In 
more cheerful mood, he spoke again : 

“ There is another matter I thought advisable to 
mention to you. I’ve just heard, incidentally, that 
the servant girl’s testimony at the magistrate’s hear- 
ing included the allusion to a tall man with a severe 
or set face. That flattering description undoubtedly 
refers to me. In other words, I am a suspected party. 
I don’t suppose it’s any one’s business if I took a 
note from you to the late Mr. Catherwood, but I dis- 
like anything hidden, anything that bears the ap- 
pearance of secretiveness ; and it is best, perhaps, I 
should inform the authorities at once that I was there 
and the cause of my errand. I can’t see that my 
presence in that house has any relevant connection 
with the case, but it will involve, naturally, the re- 


56 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

lation of the fact that your husband was so indiffer- 
ent to you that he preferred the shelter of a stranger’s 
house to that of his home, and you were compelled 
to address him there. It is an unpleasant task, and 
will create gossip, I fear. The papers, with their 
morbid love of sensationalism, in pandering to the 
low tastes of some people, will possibly make offen- 
sive statements and conjectures, and hurt your feel- 
ings terribly; but is it not my duty?” 

A deathly whiteness had stolen over her face, and 
there was a plea of painful entreaty in the beautiful 
eyes as she replied, huskily: “Mr Harrod, don’t. 
It is probably the only favor I shall ever ask of you. 
Do nothing of the kind, please.” Her voice was low 
and hard, but its intensity of feeling affected him 
unpleasantly. “ Don’t you see that you are one of 
the suspected parties, as you truly said? In their 
haste to find the criminal they will prove you to be 
the guilty one, if it is necessary. Your delay in 
making the announcement will be prejudicial to your 
interests at the start. I know,” she continued, as he 
made a gesture of dissent, and her tones indicated 
the dismay that his words had aroused and the dread 
of his possible refusal to accede to her request, “ that 
you were too busy to pay any attention to the news- 
paper reports, at the time ; but such an excuse will 
not be accepted. If they are unable to convict you 
— for I really believe your freedom would be imper- 
iled — are not your prospects ruined for life, for you 
could not live down the suspicion? Think how ter- 
rible it would be to have your whole life clouded by 
a doubt of your integrity. Mr. Catherwood had 
acted in a brutal manner by his negligence of his 


DEVELOPMENTS. 


57 


family, and I wrote asking him when my daughter 
was to have the honor of a call from him. Pride 
kept me from referring to myself. ” Here she dashed 
<iway a tear slowly falling from her eye. “ It was 
satirical, I know ; but I had no intention of making 
an acknowledgment that he had offended me. It is 
useless to disguise the fact from you that I cared 
nothing for him. He married me when I was a 
thoughtless, impressionable girl with no knowledge 
of love or the sanctity of our union, and then treated 
me with the same complacency that he would a fa- 
vorite housekeeper or a salable horse. His habits 
affronted me, his ignorance made me ashamed of 
him, as I grew older, and his indifference to my 
cravings for proper enjoyment and the satisfying of 
my mental needs almost produced a feeling of re- 
pulsion in me toward him. We had become com- 
pletely alienated many months before he left. I was 
quite willing to have him go away, and I had hoped 
he would never return.” Her voice was full of ve- 
hemence. “ I was a true wife to him, and yet he 
imposed the crowning insult upon me by bringing to 
this city some vile woman — some despicable creature 
he found in the streets or slums out West. But he 
was punished for his sin,” and there was a slight 
unctuousness in her manner, as if she had been will- 
ing to accept without murmur this decree of Provi- 
dence. “You told me,” and the voice grew earnest 
again, “ he threw the note angrily aside, saying he 
would attend to it. I now see the terrible mistake 
I made in asking you to deliver the message, but I 
wanted proof that he had received it. And then he 
spoke insulting words to you. Oh, I know it,” as the 


58 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


lawyer shook his head in disclaimer of the assertion. 
“You didn’t tell me that, but I saw from your flushed 
face that your errand had been an unpleasant one, 
and I conjectured the cause. I know how his coarse- 
ness must have offended your tastes. What right 
had he to treat you so?*” and she stamped her foot 
angrily. “ Don’t you see, again, if I were called 
upon to testify, and should tell the truth, as I must 
do, I would have to say you returned looking as if 
there had been a quarrel. Your mood indicated it. 
I don’t believe there was one, you understand,” and 
in her anxiety to convince him that she held him 
blameless, she unconsciously laid her hand upon his 
arm. The touch gave him a magnetic thrill. What 
sorcery did this woman exert over him ! “ It would 

be madness for you to say a word. Do you wonder 
that I did not display any great sorrow when I heard 
how he had died? Was it necessary for me to look 
as if I had walked through the shadow of death? 
Could I act the modern Niobe? How could I, with- 
out being a hypocrite? It may seem wrong to you, 
Mr. Harrod, for me to say it, but I am a happier 
woman now than I have ever been.” 

Her voice had changed, her movements altered, 
picturing many emotions from light to dark shades, 
from quick to slow, from pathos to scorn, as she 
spoke. Once, when she referred to his sin, the red 
flush had faded from her cheek, leaving a death -like 
pallor in its place, as if she hastily regretted her 
words, knowing that she had no right to judge him, 
and having a dim remembrance of the text, “Ven- 
geance is mine, and I will repay,” which came to her 
with the thought that temptation might lead one even 


DEVELOPMENTS. 


59 


of her calm temperament into the paths of guile. 
Virtue is easy when there is naught to lead astray. 
There was a mournful vibration in her entreaties. 
Nearly half her life had been one of secret misery, 
and yet she had borne her fate without murmuring 
till now. The pent-up emotion had at last burst 
bonds. It was such a relief to be able to talk to 
him, for he would understand. And he compre- 
hended her fully. He did not stand alone, then, in 
the world, as one who had known great anguish of 
mind and heart; but he had not been as brave and 
patient as she. He pitied her greatly. He would 
not add to her distress, though he had little dread of 
being implicated as seriously as she imagined. She 
had been almost like a tragedy queen when she ut- 
tered her mild denunciations, and now it was a soft, 
gentle woman with a look of craving pleading that 
stood waiting to hear him speak. A solicitude for 
him, shown almost with loving entreaty, held him 
enthralled. He ought to let the police know who he 
was and why he had made this visit; but she had 
been so kind to him, had requested him not to do so 
with such tremulous force, that he resolved against 
his better judgment to be silent. 

“ I believe you have been a long-suffering woman, 
Mrs. Catherwood,” he said gently, “and I haven’t 
the heart to reopen any old wounds. Let the chap- 
ters of the old life remain closed. It shall be as you 
wish. ” 

“ It is for my daughter’s sake more than for mine,” 
and she spoke slowly, as it tired by the unwonted 
exertion of so much speech. “ She knows nothing of 
the past. I can’t bear to think she will hear of these 


6o 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


scandalous details and reports concerning her father. 
She honors his memory and I shall not disturb her 
faith. And you will not mention that you were 
there? ” 

“ No, for the present I shall not. But I shall be 
late, if I do not hurry. Excuse me, please. Good- 
by,” and he opened the front door hurriedly. There 
was some mesmeric influence by which this woman 
controlled him, and he wanted to be away from her 
presence. “ I shall not be home till nearly eleven,” 
he said to her from the steps. 

“Good-by,” she repeated, closing the door, and 
the sound of a choking sob in her throat almost 
dimmed her hearing. There was a rushing as of 
waters in her head, and the throbbing of her heart 
was painfully distinct. She pressed her hand against 
her side as if to ease the untoward commotion. Evi- 
dently, she was not able to withstand any undue 
amount of excitement. 

“What a grand man you are, John,” she whis- 
pered, pressing her lips against the cold panels, as if 
telling a confidence to the insensate wood. Heart 
and soul she adored the one who had just gone. The 
passion had been slowly gaining possession of her for 
months past. It had complete control now, and this 
was the first confession. It was the first in her life, 
and coming late was all the stronger. 

“ I love you!” she murmured still lower, and then 
turning, as if frightened at the impulse that had 
made her reveal the cherished secret, she ran rapidly 
up the stairs to her room. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE MAN HUNTER. 

At what is known as the Central Office, in the 
vicinity of the “ Bend ” on Mulberry Street, in a large, 
high-vaulted room furnished substantially with 
desks, tables and chairs — the last bound and covered 
with red leather and adorned with gilt-headed tacks 
— sat Reuben Hicks, erstwhile farmer’s boy and dry- 
goods' clerk in a New Hampshire store, but for the 
past five years a very promising member of the 
New York detective force. A strong liking and, as 
he believed, a special aptitude for the business had 
caused him to throw aside his position of counter- 
jumper. Leaving behind faint recollections of dis- 
agreeable experiences with tape and muslin, he 
hastened to Boston. After unsuccessful attempts to 
obtain employment in that city he had changed his 
last twenty-dollar bill in buying a ticket for the Me- 
tropolis, where he landed safely at Forty-second 
Street, and had readily been taken on trial by the 
police authorities. An opportunity was given him 
a few months later to track a noted criminal, and 
he had followed his prey from Canada to England, 
thence to France, arresting him in a cafd chantant of 
the lower order, with but the faintest clews as a guide. 
There was a tradition in the office that he could as- 
sume the character of an English baronet ora French 
61 


6 2 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


chiffonnier with equal celerity and efficiency. This 
first important capture of his had been considered “ a 
very fine piece of work,” and Hicks rapidly advanced 
in the estimation of his superiors. 

As he rested on a cane-seated chair, occasionally 
falling into an error of his youth by tilting it back 
on one or two legs, he gazed straight at the green 
baize of the office table before him, as if compell- 
ing a revelation of secrets from out its unmeaning 
depths. He was a man of medium height, great 
muscular build, and a round, compact body. His 
legs were rather too wiry to be graceful, and had a 
slight twist in them that had caused some of his as- 
sociates to refer to him jokingly as ,k Banty. ” His 
face was commonplace in feature, cleanly shaved, 
with a strong blue tint on his cheeks and chin, indi- 
cative of a heavy beard. His mouth was wide, firm- 
set, with quite full lips. A pair of dull-looking, 
small, blue-gray eyes looked from beneath a head of 
light-brown hair that was growing thin at the crown. 
He was about thirty years of age, but looked older; 
and, being clad in a fairly well-cut suit of plain gray 
cloth, was, if anything, an uninteresting person. 
People had remarked that when he was excited his 
eyes grew luminous and his large white teeth snapped 
viciously, as if he was a human tiger. Ordinarily, 
one would not think of accusing him of carnivorous 
instincts ; for his general expression was that of ur- 
banity, though his manner expressed an unsympa- 
thetic and unresponsive nature. He was the pos- 
sessor of the ordinary education given to boys in the 
public schools of New England, with strong linguis- 
tic talents, which he had developed by great assidu- 


THE MAN HUNTER. 


63 


ity, as he knew fairly well French, Spanish and Ger- 
man, and had a smattering of half a dozen other 
tongues. This acquisition, of inestimable service to 
him in his present avocation, was principally the re- 
sult of self-study, though he had expended a few 
dollars in receiving tuition from “ a master of lan- 
guages.” He was also familiar with the various dia- 
lects, or variations in local parlance, of the different 
sections of the United States, and it was quite im- 
possible for a native of Georgia to pose before him 
as one born in Ohio. His confreres gave him the 
credit of saying little, promising nothing, and doing 
much. Still, he was capable of expressing* his opin- 
ions in neat, concise speech, and was considered the 
best raconteur on the force in his moments of leisure ; 
but he had not a single vice aside from whistling 
loud and long when by himself. He had ceased in- 
terlarding his conversation with tiresome “you 
knows,” several years back. His talk was never 
boisterous ; he never bandied vulgar stories. This 
omission, and his general contrast to the whiskey- 
stained, rubicund countenances of most of his asso- 
ciates, was quite marked, and alone would have 
called attention to him. He was a genuine Vidocq, 
a born hunter of criminals, and gloried in the ambi- 
tion he felt for what he termed his profession. 

As he mused, the door opened forcibly, admitting 
a draft of the cold, clammy November air and the 
rotund person of his chief. 

“Hello, Hicks! how goes it?” exclaimed the lat- 
ter in a tone of hearty greeting, and he stubbed his 
toes against the heavy Brussels carpet as he trotted 
across the room, 


6 4 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


“ Good. ” 

“Anything on?” 

“ Nothing.” 

“What a moral place this town is getting to be!” 
sneered the chief. “ Haven’t had a robbery, or a 
defalcation, or a murder, for a week. Wonderful 
place,” he continued in a dissatisfied, sarcastic tone. 
“We’ll all be turned out of office next, just as soon 
as the dear public, the tax-payers, get on to this situ- 
ation. ‘Detectives luxuriating in their plush easy - 
chairs’ will be a newspaper heading that will stir the 
community up. Say, help me off with my overcoat, 
please,” he interpolated, backing up to Hicks as he 
was struggling to divest himself of the heavy gar- 
ment. “ Of course, we’re no good, anyhow. By the 
way, did you hear — thank you,” as the chinchilla at 
last dropped away from his burly form — “did you 
hear of the Catherwood case that occurred while you 
were away?” 

“ No, not while I was in Europe,” replied the other, 
paying no attention to the undisguised ill-humor of 
his superior. He had heard similar complaints be- 
fore, when a day or two had elapsed without bring- 
ing a series of ghastly crimes to horrify the public 
and arouse extraordinary activity in his corps. “ For- 
eign papers say very little about this country ; but 
I had a full account of it as soon as I returned, last 
week. I would like to make another trip, Chief.” 

“ Why, where?” 

“You’ll see by this,” unfolding a printed paper 
which he took from his inside pocket, “that Mrs. 
Catherwood — the widow, of course — has at my insti- 
gation increased the reward for the detection and 


THE MAN HUNTER. 


6 5 


conviction of the murderer to the sum of $10,000, 
and says she will let the amount stand for a year. 
It’s general business, anyway, and I want to do 
something in the matter. The press pokes fun at us 
every now and then, and yesterday’s Evening Post 
had Catherwood’s name among a list of seventy-nine 
murdefs in one year that the police didn’t find out. 
I’m tired of this newspaper sarcasm.” 

“ Well, what do you want to do?” 

“ I want to go in search of the young woman that 
Catherwood brought with him from the West.” 

“ What do you know about her ? ” 

“Considerable.- I know her name, and I have a 
photograph of her. You see,” said the detective, 
growing communicative, “ having little to do for the 
past few days, I have become interested in this mys- 
tery. It doesn’t seem to me that much effort was 
made at the time to unravel this wound-up affair. 
It’s too bad I was away when it happened. Mrs. 
Catherwood isn’t very approachable, but I managed 
to secure quite a lengthy interview with her, and 
told her that to subserve the ends of justice it was 
necessary she should increase the promised award. 
Said she doubted if anything would be discovered, 
and wasn’t disposed to talk much on the subject. 
But I urged her up to the point of giving me an 
order for these,” crinkling in his hand the circular, 
which the other man now took from him and hastily 
scanned. 

“ Since Mrs. Catherwood has come into the posses- 
sion of so much money she has grown ‘tony,’ as they 
say, and about four months ago moved over to the 
north side of Washington Square, Found out all 
5 


66 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


about her before I called, which of course I had a 
right to do. She had retained some papers and let- 
ters of her husband, and among them were notes — 
love-tokens — from his inamorata. They gave me her 
name — her right name, I mean — for she had regis- 
tered as Carrie Welch at the hotel. The widow said 
she was just about to burn these scraps, thinking 
they were of no use, and twenty-four hours later I 
would have been too late. I don’t understand it, 
though,” and he sank into a train of thought from 
which he almost immediately roused himself, and 
continued: “Why didn’t some one on the force try 
to get the girl’s name and residence?” 

“What girl? Oh, yes! that young woman. What 
had she to do with it? We didn’t suppose the widow 
could give us any facts, and she wasn’t asked any 
questions. She had no connection with our work, 
and was really pretty well hid at the time. Rather 
delicate matter, anyway — don’t you see? Some fel- 
low by the name of Harrod transacted all the busi- 
ness for her.” 

“ Harrod ! Who is he?” 

“Oh, a young lawyer of the city. Don’t know 
anything about him.” 

“ Where does he live?” 

“He did live — boarded with — her at that time.” 

“ Ah !” softly murmured the detective. “ If you’ll 
excuse my saying so, the case hasn’t been handled 
right. I don’t wonder at the charge of complete 
apathy made by the Times. No measurements taken ; 
not a bit of ribbon or a discarded glove found; no 
attention paid to the position of the furniture ; abso- 
lutely nothing as a clew. The men must have been 


THE MAN HUNTER. 


6 7 


asleep. I visited the vacant room, but couldn’t find 
a blood-stain on the bare floor. I’d like to push it 
for a while.” 

“ As you please. It’s been too deep for us. We 
were all very busy just at that time, too. But how 
did you get her to put up this big sum?” and the 
speaker looked lovingly at the large type of the 
legend : 

Ten Thousand Dollars Reward. 

as if he envied any one the power to distribute so 
much money. 

“ Easy enough. I told her that the previous tri- 
fling inducement had not been sufficient to attract the 
energies of any one who might' be of service, and 
that really it was so ridiculously low as to cause 
unpleasant remarks. The hint that she might be re- 
garded stingy seemed to hurt her feelings, for she 
has strong perspicacity, and it made her a little ag- 
gressive. I mentioned this amount, and she agreed 
to it with the stipulation of one year’s time attached; 
but she wasn’t over-anxious to do it. Said it was 
only a renewal of a dreadful affair, and so on.” 

“ Did she say she hoped the guilty party would be 
caught?” 

“No,” responded the other thoughtfully, “I don’t 
remember that she did. I suppose, woman-like, she 
didn’t want to hear of any more suffering inflicted. 
Didn’t like the idea of my calling, and treated me as 
if I was intruding my unwelcome presence upon her. 
Has the general idea that detectives are a sort of re- 
formed criminals, I imagine. I’ve more hopes from 
the daughter, however. ” 


68 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


“What do you mean?” 

“ She’s a young, confiding creature that will tell 
a stranger everything she knows in five minutes. 
While the mother and I were talking, this girl came 
into the room, and, hearing some remark of ours, un- 
derstood with quick perception the subject we were 
discussing, for she immediately blurted out that she 
hoped the person would be caught and hung. Said 
something about her trying to find out as long as she 
lived. Spoke very scornfully of the stupid detec- 
tives. Real spiteful for a young thing,” and the 
speaker grinned good-naturedly. “ I intend to culti- 
vate her acquaintance, however.” 

“And the mother?” 

“ Oh, she looked distressed, told the child she was 
very impolite, and that it was not right to entertain 
such thoughts of revenge — that it was very unlady- 
like and un-Christian. Said that vengeance belonged 
to a higher power, and that sort of thing. ” 

“ Real good old lady, is she?” chuckled the other. 

“ Not exactly. Not too good. Calm, motherly 
person; but not so old, either. Less than thirty, 
apparently.” 

“ How about the photograph?” 

“ Luckiest ‘find’ in the world,” replied the detec- 
tive, enthusiastically. “ I drop into all the leading 
hotels almost daily, and yesterday morning the pro- 
prietorof the Sinclair handed me this, ” passing a cabi- 
net picture to the elder man, “ which they had just 
found under the edge of the carpet when they moved 
the bureau. He tells me it is a good likeness of 
the woman I want to find, for he saw her fully while 
she was a guest there. Her hair looks dark in the 


THE MAN HUNTER. 


69 


photo, but it was yellow at that time — bleached, 
probably. You see,” indicating by a gesture, “there 
is the photographer’s name and the place, San Fran- 
cisco. I want to go there." 

“ When?” 

“ To-night.” 

“Very well. You have my permission, and I wish 
you good-luck. Ten thousand dollars isn’t to be 
sniffed at. ” 

“Thank you, sir,” and the young man rose and 
turned toward the doorway. 

“ Here, Hicks,” and the speaker had rapidly opened 
a little drawer, taking a small bundle therefrom, 
which he handed to the other. “ That’s what was 
found in Catherwood’s room: torn envelopes, some 
bills, receipts, and a note or two. They may be of 
use to you. You may have this, also, if you wish to 
retain the ‘fatal weapon, ’ ” handing over the article. 
“ But why are you so anxious to find the woman 
first?” 

“Because I’ve partly accepted the theory of both 
the magistrate and the attending surgeon — that the 
wound was inflicted by a female hand. It’s pretty 
fair evidence, but I would rather have one fact than 
a thousand theories. ” 

“ She’s only one of the three suspected parties, you 
know.” 

“ That’s true, but I know nothing about the others. 
They sank from sight with remarkable quickness. 
I use the common principle of first ccrme first served, 
and I want an explanation from this woman of the 
reasons of her suspicious actions and her rapid flight 
from the city, as soon as I can find her;” and, pick- 


70 THE CATHERW00D MYSTERY. 

ing up the photograph, circular and batch of papers, 
he stowed them carefully in his pockets, seized his 
hat, made his obeisance to the other, and slipped out 
of the room, closing the door with the same careful 
consideration the ordinary clergyman shows to that 
part of a building’s superstructure — which is symboli- 
cal, probably, of a religious and contemplative mind. 
At home, he inspected the collection. With the 
papers there was, also, a handkerchief — a delicate 
but not costly article. He looked at this with quiet 
intentness. Not a name or initial upon it, but as he 
held it up it exhaled a pungent perfume. 

“What’s that?” he soliloquized, as he buried his 
nose in its crumpled folds. “ What extract is that? 
It’s familiar to me, somehow.’’ And the handker- 
chief? It was not sufficiently fine to have been the 
property of a lady. It might have been a home prod- 
uct that the original of the photograph had brought 
with her from the West. Was it possible that it be- 
longed to a servant-girl at the boarding-house? That 
conjecture was more probable. At least, the owner 
had been restricted in the price of her purchases, for 
this was a very common piece of goods. Was it a 
clew — the one he wanted? 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A FRUITLESS QUEST. 

Christmas Day of the same year saw Reuben 
Hicks home again, and the morning after he sat in 
the same chair tilted back against the same wall, 
with the self-same inquiring gaze fixed upon the 
baize-covered table that he had given that well-worn 
specimen of furniture six weeks before. But it was 
as unresponsive as ever. In a fit of melancholy, 
probably, he was softly whistling a tune very popu- 
lar but a few years previous — a topical song known 
as “ Walking Down Broadway.” 

His nearest friends always forgave him this slight 
eccentricity, as he made no other pretensions to musi- 
cal accomplishments, and the shrill whistle that had 
roused the echoes of the hills as he followed the 
plough-handles in the early spring, when he was a 
boy, was the only reminder to him of a youth who, 
although his alter ego , seemed far removed from the 
earnest, hard-thinking, hard-working, and stead- 
fast man of the present. His rendition of the line 
relating to “ the festive, gay Broadway” was inter- 
rupted by the sharp click of a latch-key. His pursed- 
up lips relaxed, the face became mobile as the 
inspector entered breezily. The latter was in ex- 
cellent good-humor for the nonce, as “business” had 
been brisk lately and he felt a joyous personal 
satisfaction in the natty suit, with heavy fur-lined 
71 


72 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


overcoat, in which he was newly dressed. His 
greeting was cordial as he shook hands with the 
younger man. 

“ Glad to see you back. Have much luck?” 

“ Only fair. ” 

“Tell me about it. Wait a moment,” seizing the 
poker to stir up the coal, burning dimly in the open 
grate, “ till I get a little more fire here. Cold, but 
good, seasonable weather. Now,” turning to hang 
his discarded overcoat and hat in the wardrobe, “ I’m 
all attention. Rattle on.” 

“I reached ’Frisco all right,” slightly drawled the 
other, just a faint nasal intonation being discernible 
in his voice — no more so, however, than is frequently 
heard among both the whites and negroes of south- 
eastern Virginia, along the tidewater counties — “ and 
though the photograph-maker had moved, I soon 
found him in another street, and I obtained some facts 
from him.” 

“What were they?” inquired the listener with 
every sort of interest. 

“ He knew Catherwood quite well, but never saw 
the young woman only at the time she sat for the 
cabinet. She was sent there by the old fellow him- 
self. But he directed me to a man, and that man 
referred me to another, and after interviewing half a 
dozen people, gathering various bits of information, 
my search took me off to a town about sixty miles 
away in the northern part of the State. There I 
heard the whole story. Her mother was an actress, 
well known all over the country. Played here in 
New York. You remember her — Mademoiselle Syl- 
phide, she called herself. ” 


A FRUITLESS QUEST. 


73 


The other nodded his head briskly in the affirma- 
tive with a quiet ejaculation of “ Umph.” He had a 
distinct recollection of the cost of a basket of cham- 
pagne that he had laid as an offering at this siren’s 
feet in his salad-days, and he was old enough then 
to have been ashamed of himself. There was a pair 
of white cotton gloves he still cherished as a gage- 
d' amour, among the other effects of his escritoire at 
home. Know her? Well, rather; but he did not 
feel inclined to make any confidences. His lips were 
closed. Hicks saw the faint color rising to the other 
man’s cheeks, and formed his own opinion of the 
reason. 

“ The Sylphide' ran down at the heels, after a par- 
ticularly big scandal in Chicago with a grain specula- 
tor — a married man — and drifted farther West. She 
took to drink, and* when she died, ten years ago, was 
about on a par with the women in oftr concert sa- 
loons. ” (Another vivacious nod of the bald head of 
his listener.) “She lost her voice, and then her 
beauty, and that was the end of her career. Her 
real name, it seems, was Wagner, and the girl of 
twelve she left behind was taken in charge by some 
charitably disposed people who gave her a home un- 
til she was eighteen, and then sent her out to com- 
bat with the world — make her own living, is the 
stereotyped phrase, I believe. I imagine she had 
some of the qualities of her mother, and her guard- 
ians did not care to keep her longer. She became a 
waitress in a hotel — quite an attraction, every one 
said ; and soon after a rancher and cattle-driver, on 
a small scale, fell in love with her and they were 
married. She seemed to settle down sensibly, al- 


^4 the catherwood mystery. 

though there had been some stories about her, and 
there were rumors she had outside admirers. But 
people will lie the world over. There’s little doubt 
but what there was plenty of connubial felicity till 
Jabez Catherwood stumbled upon her accidentally, 
and made her acquaintance in the summer of last 
year. He had known her mother forty odd years 
ago, and he took a sudden fancy to the daughter of 
his boyish acquaintance. Catherwood had suffered 
many unpleasant experiences ; but a few months be- 
fore he met this offspring of his old school compan- 
ion he had secured control of a mine, and it proved 
to be a bonanza. The cow-boy husband was from 
home a good portion of the time, but he made his 
wife explain the source of the costly jewelry and 
rich dresses she was wearing, and she acted very 
honestly with him, apparently, introducing him to 
Catherwood, and accounting for the presents on the 
score of his being a life-long friend of her mother 
and the fatherly affection of the mine-owner. No 
one out there seems to exactly understand it, but the 
old chap must have offered her some great induce- 
ment ; for she left suddenly with him for the East, and 
we know the rest. I wonder what became of all that 
money, though,” soliloquized the detective, who 
had evidently lost interest in the thread of his own 
narrative, lapsing into one of his habitual musing 
moods. 

“ Why this is exciting, Hicks ! But don’t sit there, 
mumbling. Go on with the story.” 

The detective shook himself, as if he had been 
aroused from a nap. There was a slight irritation 
of manner as he continued : “ She went straight back 


A FRUITLESS QUEST. 


75 


from here to her husband,” and he uncrossed his 
legs, stretching them out before him as he glared at 
vacancy. 

“She did!” exclaimed the elder man, bouncing 
from his chair. “ Do you mean to tell me that woman 
we7it right from here to San Francisco V* and slowly 
sinking into his seat, he scratched his head, as 
if seeking for the nerve that would transmit an ex- 
planation to his perturbed brain of this strange, in- 
consistent action in a suspected murderess. 

“That is the fact,” was the cool rejoinder. 

“ Well, it beats the Dutch ! I can hardly believe 
it! How do you account for it?” 

“ Easy enough. She’s not guilty; that’s all.” 

“ How? You’re easily satisfied, it seems to me. 
But go on.” 

“ She returned to her husband — he came pretty 
near killing her when they met — and claimed to 
have left a note behind making full explanation of 
her seeming reprehensible conduct. He didn’t find 
the message, at least. She vowed she had done 
nothing wrong, and that she only accompanied the 
old man — who at last she acknowledged was grossly 
in love with her — for the purpose of obtaining a large 
sum of money he had promised her if she would take 
the trip. I believe the woman told the truth. She 
talked too much for one who has any guilty secret 
to hide. Half the community there know what I’m 
telling you. Catherwood thought that the scandal 
would drive her to his arms ; but she had a lot of 
worldly wisdom, and only pretended anything you 
please for the sake of getting the cash from him. 
Regular cheat on her part, of course ; but she never 


76 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


made any pretensions to holiness. Her acts proved 
her love for her husband. From different sources I 
learned that she bought up a good business for him ; 
and at different times gave him checks for two, 
three, and I saw one stub marked for five, thousand 
dollars. But he was never satisfied of the woman’s 
honesty. He condoned the possible offence — the in- 
fringement of his marital rights; but he had evi- 
dently been earnestly in love with her, and with 
morose grieving over her escapade he took to drink 
to drown sad memories, I suppose, squandering 
large sums of money in excesses of the worst kind. 
Before that, time he had been an energetic, hard- 
working man, and every one gave him the best char- 
acter. Finally, her money was nearly gone, and 
when she was unable or unwilling to give him more 
he beat her; but his career of dissipation was short, 
for he fell out of a wagon and broke his neck about 
three months after her return. She sank out of no- 
tice at once. Raised a few hundred dollars from the 
sale of her personal effects and household goods, and 
left the town. The mayor of the place told me there 
must have been $20,000, at least, lost in connection 
with the store she set up for him, as he had given 
everybody unlimited credit. Her husband was the 
greatest freak they had ever seen. He gave orders 
one day that all the saloons should be kept open at 
his expense, and the next morning he paid the bills, 
amounting to over $1,300. All sorts of wild tales 
were told about him. If he had lived East, he 
would have been put in an insane asylum. As she 
had only been gone a few weeks before I reached 
there, it was easy to trace her as far as Denver. 


A FRUITLESS QUEST. 


77 


There the police said it was believed she had left 
for St. Louis, and it was their opinion she had a 
large amount of money with her. At one of the 
banks she had changed a thousand-dollar bill. It’s 
my belief that when she saw what a wreck of things 
her husband was making, she retained a snug sum 
in her pocket. My time was up, and I had to come 
home, but I’m going to find that woman.” 

“You’ll do it, too, Reuben, my boy,” and the chief 
spoke kindly, as, rising from his chair, he walked 
across the room and laid his hand on the shoulder of 
the other. “ I want to see you earn that reward, for 
you deserve it, and it makes me feel ashamed that 
we made such a mess of it at the outsetw Let’s see,” 
with an affected air of searching his memory ; “ when 
did this thing occur? Ah, yes, in June — more than 
six months ago.” 

“ One thing about the case puzzles me greatly. ” 

“ What’s that?” 

“What became of the million dollars that Cather- 
wood received for his half-share of the mine. The 
sum may be exaggerated, as I had no time to verify 
the amount of the sale ; but the photographer, who 
has a practical knowledge of such properties, told 
me it was probably true, and there wasn’t the slight- 
est doubt but what he must have received at least 
half that sum in cool cash. The bonds, securities, 
etc., found in Catherwood’s valise only counted up 
about $300,000, and this woman could not have had a 
colossal fortune in her hands. The best I can make 
out, though her husband let money flow like water, 
is that she had nearly $35,000. Even if she retained 
ten or twenty thousand more, what has become of 


78 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

all those other hundred thousands? Somewhere, 
there is a half million; where is it?” 

The listener shook his head dubiously, expressive 
of his utter inability to offer a suggestion. 

“I don’t believe she knows anything about it, 
either, for I’m certain she’s not the ‘ right catch’ for 
me. With her Western training there is some bra- 
vado about her, of course, but nothing in her whole 
conduct indicates any fear of detection. Not a step 
she has taken leaves any supposition that she has 
committed a crime. She is described as grief- 
stricken in appearance. So-called bad women have 
frequently very tender hearts, I know. Who is the 
man with the ‘severe face,’ and what was the ped- 
dler doing in Catherwood’s room? Do you know 
what’s to be done?” and without waiting for a re- 
sponse to the question he continued energetically, 
“I’m going to find those men, and I shall commence 
right at the start, just as the magistrate did.” 

“ First ” 

“Yes,” interrupted the detective, “ I intend to hunt 
up the servant-girl who opened the door to those par- 
ties. There weren’t enough facts developed. One 
great trouble is that the widow Catherwood has, in 
my opinion, appeared altogether too indifferent as to 
the results. I guess she was glad to obtain the fort- 
une she did without worrying over the lost money. 
But lost money is good when it’s found.” 

“Quite true, Hicks,” responded the head of the 
department. “ By the way, didn’t the people of that 
town know of Catherwood’s death?” 

“ It seems not. He was a comparative stranger 
there, and only visited at this woman’s home. He 


A FRUITLESS QUEST. 


79 


passed his time either in ’Frisco or at the mine. 
They don’t see any important newspapers there, and 
it’s not a reading community, anyway. It was a gen- 
eral supposition that she had only gone a short dis- 
tance with Catherwood ; and, if you remember, there 
wasn’t the slightest reference to any woman in our 
city reports of the case. ” 

“Yes, that’s so. As I told you before, I wish you 
every success. The whole affair is as interesting as 
a novel; but just now I want you to look at this,” 
and a moment later they were in deep consultation 
over the possibilities of a late destructive fire with 
strong corroborative evidence in connection, being 
the usual Jew incendiary method of disposing of a 
stock of unsalable goods. This class of beings evi- 
dently know their brethren, for there has never been 
an insurance company managed by their own race. 
It is the Gentile upon whom the swindle is invaria- 
bly inflicted. 


BOOK II.— ABROAD. 


CHAPTER IX. 

PERSONAL AMENITIES. 

It was the Centennial year. On the morrow, May 
io, the great Exposition would throw open its doors 
with formal ceremonies. A tap on a knob, and that 
monster, the Corliss engine, would be set in motion. 
Guns would fire and the people would shout. All 
the notabilities of the nation were to be present. It 
was to be a gala-day. Hundreds of New Yorkers, 
although they gibed at the quietness of the Quaker 
City, and indulged in moth-eaten jests of its grassy 
streets and sleepy horse (street) cars, envious of the 
position Philadelphia would hold in the world’s eyes 
for six months to come, had signified their intention 
of “ going over” to take part in the preliminary ex- 
ercises — out of pure charity, they said — of what has, up 
to the present, been the grandest lawn fete ever held. 

Mrs. Catherwood, who was now to a considerable 
degree a woman of fashion, and who with ever-con- 
stant growing happiness exhibited a much livelier 
mood than of yore, though her manner was statelier, 
had arranged to visit the exhibition in company with 
her daughter, who until this time had remained ab 
80 


PERSONAL AMENITIES. 


8l 


most constantly in the school-room and had seen lit- 
tle of the outside world except in the travel of brief 
summer excursions. The mother had carefully su- 
pervised her child’s mental needs, changing teachers 
when necessary with a firm determination that was 
quite shocking to the weak minds of stupid instruct- 
ors and very dispiriting to the nerves of tea-drinking 
governesses. 

Until her fourteenth year, Miss Nellie had attended 
the public schools, but since then her education had 
been under the control of select teachers, male and 
female. The mother had insisted upon securing the 
services of specialists, and the round-shouldered in- 
dividual who taught the daughter French was a na- 
tive of Dijon and had lived in Paris. The instructor 
in music was a veritable professor, whose composi- 
tions had been highly extolled; and the lady who 
trained her to express herself in good English, and 
drilled her in the sciences, was the writer of one or 
more successful text-books on language, physics, and 
biology. There had been engaged, at times, some 
incompetents ; but Mrs. Catherwood soon discovered 
their superficiality of knowledge, both of the subject 
and of the ability to teach it, and gave them their 
congd with but little hesitation. Such effrontery was 
amazing, she declared. “ I want Nellie to be taught 
by people who know thoroughly what they profess. 
If I only desired to have her obtain a smattering of 
the ’ologies, I could teach her myself,” she had re- 
marked to a near acquaintance — all of which was 
indicative of a radical nature, but of decisiveness of 
character. And the daughter had not unwillingly 
accepted these conditions, for she was very apt, pos- 
6 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


sessed an inquiring mind and a strong imagination, 
with a natural inclination for books and a love of 
study. Still, she could not suppress a little murmur 
of delight when told that, for a few days, in this 
beautiful spring weather, her lessons would be dis- 
continued. 

Edwin Austin, who was conducting a successful 
drug-store — an old-established house — on Broadway 
with his father, and who was at the same time pre- 
paring for a medical career, having entered upon the 
course of study the fall after his graduation from a col- 
lege of pharmacy, would accompany the party. He 
had made the acquaintance of Harrod professionally 
some time before; later they had become quite inti- 
mate, and the lawyer, satisfying himself of the excel- 
lent qualities of the young man, who was then about 
twentyMour years old, had gradually introduced him 
into the fireside companionship of the Catherwoods. 
The druggist had become a desirable acquisition to 
their list of friends, and to one of the family, at least, 
although his calls had not been frequent, he was a 
very welcome visitor. Miss Nellie, thoroughly en- 
grossed in her recitations and the various feminine 
accomplishments to be derived by an attentive peru- 
sal of the arts and belles-lettres , was now in her seven- 
teenth year, and so was sufficiently old to appreciate 
the dark curly hair and smiling brown eyes of the 
young gentleman who possessed such delightful 
manners, and who treated her with such charming 
deference. It was the old, old story of love’s young 
dream, though Mrs. Catherwood, mindful of her own 
sad experience, would not allow any demonstration 
or give Mr. Austin the opportunity of expressing any 


PERSONAL AMENITIES. 83 

stronger emotion for her daughter than that of ordi- 
nary friendship. 

And the studious girl was well worthy of a man’s 
respect and affection. During the past three years, 
she had developed from a tall, angular child of seem- 
ing fragile constitution into a well-matured young 
woman with full, rounded body, a creature of health 
and graceful activity. Her mother was never able 
to conceal her surprise at the fact that the daughter 
was “ so much larger than I was at her age. ” 

Nellie’s lovely blonde hair, that hung in wavy 
strands looking like spun gold, and the large dark-blue 
eyes of melting tenderness, were both inheritances 
from the father, modified and amplified by female 
refinement. Her complexion, which was Nature’s 
gift, was an allurement — an ever-changing mixture 
of cream and rose-tints. The delicate hands and feet 
were models from the mother, as was the pliant 
suppleness of her figure. The memory of a parent, 
lost to her under such hideous circumstances, had 
grown to be an inspiring passion. She knew nothing 
of his faults and weaknesses ; only the fact that he 
had been cruelly murdered, without any one being 
punished for the crime, was the sole heritage left 
her. Her mother’s injudicious and frequent com- 
ment, that she resembled her father, aided in 
strengthening the unhealthy craving that the drama 
of their lives should have a proper finale by the dis- 
covery and execution of the guilty one. This “ con- 
stant, burning thought” she had communicated, first 
to the mother, who seemed distressed by this craving 
for blood on the part of her child, and had chided 
her severely for entertaining such ideas ; and then to 


8 4 


THE CATHERWOOJJ MYSTERY. 


the young apothecary, after they had been long ac- 
quainted. 

Desirous of being of service to her, he had ex- 
pressed interest, and she found in him the promise 
of a willing coadjutor in her plans. When Mr. 
Harrod became an inmate of their household, she 
had, as a child, only shown indifference toward the 
“strange man;” but in the last year or two, strange 
to relate, she had conceived a strong dislike for him, 
and though he had been both helpful and considerate, 
she was unwilling to hide from those about her the 
aversion she felt for this long-time boarder. Possi- 
bly the fear of having a step-father may have influ- 
enced her, for the increased confidential relations of 
the other two were quite perceptible to many of the 
family acquaintances. Austin had seen it, and was 
not displeased, for he admired this lawyer friend, 
and was jealously inclined to think that even a girl 
so young as beautiful Helen might be flattered by 
the attentions of a man barely more than thirty, who 
possessed a fascinating address, and had already made 
a prominent name for himself in the legal profes- 
sion. The days of forensic eloquence have not all 
passed away, and not unfrequently his pleas before 
juries were masterpieces of logic and brilliancy. 

Harrod was never able to explain it, for he be- 
lieved his heart buried in the watery tomb with the 
fair young girl who had been so cruelly taken from 
him; but, moved by the sympathetic kindness of 
Mrs. Catherwood, he had but a month before caught 
himself holding the charming and buxom widow in 
his arms, telling her of his affection, she listening 
with greedy ears for the long-delayed declaration, 


PERSONAL AMENITIES. 


85 

while Harrod heard her whisper tremulous words in 
which she told him that she had loved him for years. 

“ But I fear I am too old for you,” she had sighed, 
while clinging to him and resting her rosy face 
against his arm. 

“ That’s gross flattery, dear. I look the oldest ” — 
which was really the fact — “ and I’m sureT feel much 
older than I look. But neither of us is too old to 
know some joy in this world. We have both lost ” 

“ Ah, yes, John ; but you are my first love. I never 
knew what love was till you stirred my heart. And 
I can help you now as I could not before. You are 
ambitious, and I shall be so for your sake. You 
shall be a judge, and go to the Supreme Court of the 
United States. If money will make you President, 
you shall go to the White House, for you’re smart 
enough to wield a nation’s destinies. Kiss me, 
John.” 

He bent his head to feel her warm mouth pressed 
tightly against his. “Dearest,” he replied, his 
pulses beating with the strange languor of passion 
this woman aroused in him, and with just a little re- 
gret that he was throwing aside the fealty he owed 
to one gone before, “ I could not let you spend a 
cent of your money for my advancement. That 
must come from my own unaided efforts. But you 
are right in saying I am ambitious, and I shall strive 
the harder now to reach a position of the highest 
honor.” The man’s eyes glowed with the thought 
of the brilliant future he should attempt to attain. 
He could in fancy see the hand of fate beckoning 
him on to glory and renown. 

“You will do it, darling,” uttering the term of 


86 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


endearment with all the confusion of a school-girl. 
“You are a king among men. All I have is yours. 
My life belongs to you. Love me, John, for I’ve 
been starving for years,” and pulling his head down 
to her she did not wait, but kissed him on the lips 
again and again, as if her soul had awakened to a 
new joy. The glance of her eye, the throbbing of 
her breast, the passion sent through her moist mouth 
to his, was like an intoxicant, and the strong-headed 
man was amazed at the revelation — at the tropical 
nature of her overpowering love for him. 

Yet an hour later there was the same docile calm- 
ness of demeanor, the usual quiet expression in her 
face, but to which was added seemingly a new 
sparkle in the eyes and a brighter sheen to the chest- 
nut hair as she presided at the dinner-table, her 
fingers caressing the cup-handles with more than the 
usual vigor. 

Why should he not accept the gifts the gods sent? 
She was lovely in mind and person, independently 
rich, rising in social status, and she had set him on 
a pedestal for adoration. 

The next day it was arranged in a brief conver- 
sation they held in the parlor — where the widow, 
coloring with the roseate hue of her delicious 
thoughts as they discussed the details of their future 
life, and when she was, as she told him, “ too happy 
to think” — that their engagement should be an- 
nounced privately to a few friends some time later; 
and now it had been decided that the day after their 
return from Philadelphia should be the date of the 
auspicious event. 


PERSONAL AMENITIES. 


8? 


The daughter, usually free from all symptoms of 
ill-humor, had been forced to notice the exceedingly 
pleasant confidences that had lately existed between 
the older parties, and the night before they started 
on their trip had remarked to Mr. Austin in a half- 
sneering tone that was an injustice to her natural 
sweet demeanor: “ I believe that horrid man is mak- 
ing love to mamma. I should hate him if she were 
so weak as to marry him." 

“And why shouldn’t she?" inquired the other. 
“ Really, Miss Nellie, your prejudice against Mr. 
Harrod is unreasonable. I think he is a remarkably 
brilliant man, and his character is above reproach. 
To tell you the truth — and you mustn’t misunder- 
stand me, for your mother is a very charming wom- 
an — I should imagine he could marry almost any 
young girl he wanted. There are lots of them on 
the avenue that don’t hide their admiration for him, 
and I know one or two who have said they would set 
their caps for him if given half a chance.” (And 
your mother ought to jump for joy, if she can get 
him, was his mental cogitation.) 

“ I only wish some of them would catch him, then, " 
she retorted half angrily, making a little spiteful 
moue. “ Why, he’s old enough to be their father.” 

“ Not unless he had married at ten or twelve," was 
the ungraceful response. 

“ I don’t care, anyway. I don’t like him, and I 
can’t help it" — with which woman’s reason she 
evidenced a desire to close the conversation on the 
subject. But she couldn’t resist one more impor- 
tunity, and she ejaculated hastily, “Harrod! What 


88 


THE CATHERW00D MYSTERY. 


a name ! It ought to be ‘horrid, ’ for that’s just what 
he is.” 

Mr. Austin closed his eyes for a moment and 
indulged in a soft whistle, with his hand covering 
his mouth, consoling himself with the philosophic 
thought that a little temper in a woman was an ex- 
cellent thing — if not directed against yourself. 


CHAPTER X. 


estelle wagner’s confession. 

“ Going over to the quiet city, Quakerville?” in- 
quired the chief of detectives with an air of jocose- 
ness, as Hicks was about leaving the office on the 
evening of May 9. His little jokes were always her- 
alded by a broad smile, which gave timely notice of 
the intention to perpetrate a pun or to indulge in 
some witticism. “ I think we’ll be free of the light- 
fingered gentry for some time. ” 

“Yes,” responded the other, “I shall take an early 
morning train ; “ there may be something for me to 
do. Fact is, there is something. I’ve just obtained 
the address of the Irish girl. Got it last week.” 

“ What — the one in the Catherwood matter?” asked 
the burly man with a show of interest. Hicks nodded 
assent. 

“Why, that case is three years old. But you’re 
a plucky one. ” 

“ It won’t wear out with me till it’s thirty years 
old. I have a strange infatuation for it, and I’m 
going to solve the problem. Have done nothing but 
conjecture so far. Yes, I ran across the domestic. 
She’s been living secluded in Boston with a brother 
for some time. Has a beau there, I think. Lately 
they all moved to Philadelphia, and she’s in service 
again. Perhaps that’s the reason I didn’t find her 

89 


9 o 


THE CATHERW00D MYSTERY. 


before. The boarding-mistress, Mrs. Pentricks, is 
dead. From time to time I’ve interviewed several 
of the people that boarded on Ninth Street, but they 
couldn’t tell me anything about the servants.” 

“ How did you find her?” 

“ Easily enough. Have had her name scanned for 
at every intelligence office of any standing in the 
country. She always gives it in full — Lulu Bridget 
Martin — and when she applied for a situation in 
Philadelphia word was sent to me at once. The 
address was all right, and I found her without 
trouble. She seems to be brighter mentally than 
she was at the time of the murder, and I made her 
give me a better description of the people who called. 
It seems the two men and the woman all came after 
five o’clock, and possibly all within an hour’s time. 
It gives me a definite basis on one thing.” 

“ What’s that?” 

“That Catherwood was killed between five and 
seven o’clock.” 

“ And, of course, one of the three killed him. ” 

“ Not necessarily.” 

“Why not? I thought that was your theory all 
along.” 

“ Generally so, perhaps ; for of course I must find 
these three people first. But the magistrate who held 
the inquiry is a very keen man, and he told me it 
was just as probable that the boarding-house keeper 
or this servant committed the crime as any other.” 

“ Fiddlesticks ! You surely don’t believe such guff 
as that.” 

The chief was a coarse, uneducated man, whom 
influence, or what the ward politician now designates 


estelle wagner’s confession. 91 

as “a pull,” had raised to his present position, after 
which his assiduity and constant attention to duty 
kept him firmly fixed there. 

“I don’t say I did; but I am willing to listen to 
the opinions of any wise man. Sometimes I think 
I haven’t the slightest clew. But I’ll see you later. 
Good-day, sir,” and he instantly whisked through 
the doorway in his noiseless manner. 

“Strange fellow,” muttered the occupant of the 
room. “ Either he is so thoroughly perplexed that 
he won’t acknowledge it, or he has some scheme 
that he won’t tell. I like his grit, though, and he’s 
as smart as tacks,” with which commendation the 
worthy official sank back into somnolent thought. 

It was nearly eight weeks later — just after the pri- 
vate citizen had gained control of his normal condi- 
tion, and the reverberations of fire-crackers, guns, and 
cannon were about dying away on his sense of hear- 
ing ; when ordinary quiet had succeeded the pande- 
monium of a Fourth of July for which every patriotic 
son of America returns grateful thanks that it only 
comes as an annual infliction — that Hicks appeared 
about noon at the open doorway of the inner office, 
now bright in its new dress of a brilliant-colored 
matting and gaudy furniture covers in cretonne. His 
imperturbable glance coolly rested upon the crowd 
within, but his face was slightly colored with a flush 
that might be the result of too much exercise under a 
hot sun, though there was a savage glisten in his eye 
as he communicated, in pantomime, his desire to have 
a private conclave with his superior, whose look he 
caught as he stood upon the threshold. Saluting his 


92 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


confreres, some of whom stood in stolid silence receiv- 
ing instructions, while others lounged about in Mi- 
cawber-like attitudes, waiting for something to turn 
up, he passed into an ante-room, followed by the 
chief, who locked the door after him. Hicks spoke 
in a voice of mild triumph. 

“ I have scored one success. Three years’ delay in 
finding out one fact ! The woman was innocent, as 
I always believed. Read that, please,” handing the 
other a MS. of some bulk, on letter-paper, upon 
which the detective had written : “ The Confession 
of Stella Wagner.” 

“ How did you get this, and what does it mean?” 
inquired the man, holding the roll of paper. He was 
greatly excited. 

“ Going the rounds of Chestnut and Race street 
halls, about a week after I went over, I entered a 
saloon, where a peculiarly sweet voice had attracted 
my attention, and saw a woman wkh a strange, 
grieved expression, quite out of place with her sur- 
roundings, who was entertaining the noisy crowd with 
some lively songs. I at once got acquainted with her, 
for it seemed at once that I saw a likeness to the pho- 
tograph I’ve always carried here,” tapping his inner- 
side coat pocket. “Although she appeared to be 
forty, I soon discovered that she was not the least bit 
vicious. She lived at her home, a scantily furnished 
room on Fourth Street. It wasn’t easy to get on 
friendly terms with her, for she didn't want any 
attentions and wouldn’t receive any favors from a 
man, although she drank very hard — or, rather, easy 
enough for her. Gradually we became acquainted, 
and then she allowed me to walk home with her. 


estelle wagner’s confession. 93 

She told me that gin and whiskey helped her to get 
through her evening’s entertainment, buoyed up her 
spirits, and retarded the progress of the disease, she 
thought, for she was then in the last stages of con- 
sumption. I heard the keeper of the casino remark, 
one evening when she was absent, that she was 
probably home drunk, and learned from him that 
she had been there more than a year as an actress. 
She was quite chic and piquant when she first came, 
he said, but had broken down in health ; and as she 
would do nothing but sing, refusing to make any 
attempt to attract customers, and really bought her 
own liquor, the proprietor, an original countryman 
from Virginia, was not satisfied with the condi- 
tions. 

“ ‘She had a purty voice, and was a stunnin’ figger 
when she come hyar, ’ he swore, in a blustering way, 
but she had lost her good looks, ‘couldn’t dance worth 
a cent,’ and was breaking down rapidly. He ex- 
pected to ‘get shut of her soon. ’ One way and an- 
other, I was soon recognized by her as a good fellow. 
She wouldn’t allow any love-making; said she was 
‘sick of it;’ that I was like a brother to her, etc. It 
took time to become so intimate, of course. ” 

The other nodded sagely. 

“ I had the Irish servant posted by her door one 
afternoon — for I had ascertained her hours of com- 
ing and going — and Lulu Bridget had a good look 
at the vocalist; but my spy couldn’t say for certain 
that she recognized the woman. Too great a change, 
I suppose. I sent for the hotel man over here, but 
didn’t hear from him.” 

“ He went to Florida for his health, a month ago,” 


94 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


remarked the chief, stretching himself lazily. This 
was a long story Hicks was telling, and he wanted 
to yawn. 

“Ah, I didn’t know. This woman wasn’t a bit 
fast, and only seemed to like to know some one she 
could call friend. Told me one night on her way 
home that she didn’t have a hope in the world, but 
I couldn’t make her say a word about her past life. 
She was down on ‘the boards’ as Sadie Milton, but 
she had a perfect right to a nom de theatre, and that 
meant nothing to me. It was very plain that her 
race was about run, and I began to think of some 
expedient to force the history of her doings from her. 
I failed to see her for three nights in succession, and 
then I went to her house, and lucky it was I did so. 
She was dying when I reached her side. Her face 
showed more the marks of refinement and beauty at 
that time, though they were both pretty well obliter- 
ated ; but her resemblance to the cabinet was strik- 
ing. I was sure of her now. A doctor had just left 
before I entered, and there was some old woman giv- 
ing her half-attendance. I bent toward her and asked 
how she was feeling. ‘ Better than for years, ’ was 
her answer. ‘I’m going, and I’m glad of it. ’ ‘Won’t 
you tell me your real name? ’ I asked, again, know- 
ing that in death she would tell the truth. ‘Cer- 
tainly. It’s Estelle Wagner. Stella, they called 
me. Do you know, I believe you’re a detect. 
It don’t matter. Here, take this,’ and her voice was 
sinking rapidly as she ran her arm under the pillow. 
Pulling out that,” motioning to the paper roll held 
by the chief, “she gave it tome. ‘It’s a diary, and 
the solid truth, ’ she gasped as she fell back, She 


estelle wagner’s confession. 95 

died very peacefully a few minutes later, after mut- 
tering, ‘At rest, thank God.’ 

“ Some of her associates paid for the funeral, and 
the head-board to her grave has the right name 
marked on it. She had been a generous creature, 
and there were a good many tears shed as they low- 
ered her into the ground. Now, read that,” and the 
detective, quite out of breath, crossed his legs and 
began carefully nursing his knee. His voice had a 
faint huskiness in it as he finished. There was a 
suspicion of a weakness in his eyes. 

The chief slowly unrolled the paper. He was 
nothing if not deliberate. It was really wonderful 
how this man, Hicks, was burrowing into this affair, 
stumbling on evidence, even if by accident, and he 
could not help admiring the crab-like tenacity with 
which he clung to the mysterious case. He read 
slowly. The MS. commenced by stating that she 
wanted the world to know her true story. She told 
of her birth, the incidents of her early life, her 
mother’s death, her marriage to Dick Wells, and 
then her going away with Jabez Catherwood. The 
language was commonplace, at times coarse; but 
the writing was plain, and she had evidently related 
her entire experiences as she felt them. Occasion- 
ally some Western slang had been erased, and a 
more reputable Eastern phraseology inserted in its 
place. 

“I didn’t care a snap for the old duffer,” she 
wrote. “He had promised me a large sum of money 
if I would goto New York with him. He talked con- 
stantly of his admiration for my ma ; but I understood 
his game. I tried hard to let him believe I was dead 


96 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

in love with him, for I wanted awfully to finger some 
of his cash. (Dick was only making a fair living for 
us two.) He gave me clothes and diamonds, but he 
wouldn’t pass over a tenner unless I would go with 
him. He was shrewd enough to know if I got hold 
of his pile I’d give him the slip. Dick was away at 
that time, and as I thought I could explain it all to 
him I let the old fellow take me in charge. It was a 
regular lark. As soon as we reached New York, I 
made him keep his promise, and the morning after 
he came to the hotel where I was stopping — I don’t 
remember the name — and gave me $40,000 in good 
new bills. That paid me for all the trouble I’d 
taken. I ought to have dug out right then, but he 
hinted he would give me more, and was going to 
take me to the theatre that night. He drank a lit- 
tle sometimes, and I knew if he got boozy he would 
be generous to me. I thought twenty-four hours 
more wouldn’t hurt, and if I could get him in a good 
humor by a little coaxing and flattery — for he was 
crazy after me — I might be able to pull another good 
sum of money out of his pocket. There’s where I 
made my mistake. He didn’t come at the time he 
promised, and as I had driven by his boarding-house 
that afternoon I knew how to locate him. It was 
only about three squares from the hotel. He told 
me it was a little room on the second story front, and 
that was easy to find, anyway; so I told the servant 
when she let me in I would run up alone. The girl 
stared at me, but I kept my veil over my face. I 
rushed up, pushed open the door, and saw him lying 
on the lounge. I thought right off he was taking a 
nap, for he was a sleepy old chap; but the gas was 


estelle wagner’s confession. 97 

lighted, and I saw his white staring eyes and the 
knife I had given him for a present stuck in him. It 
was all I could do to keep from screaming. He was 
horrible looking, and I was scart nearly to death. 
The blood had streamed all over his big white shirt. 
Then I worried about that knife a cow-boy had given 
me. Would they think I had stabbed him? But no 
one knew it was my knife. I kicked round a lot of 
loose papers on the floor, but I wouldn’t have touched 
anything belonging to him for the world. I flew 
back to the hotel. There wasn’t a person saw me 
going out, though I shut his door with a slam, for I 
heard a clicking sort of noise as I went down the 
stairs — in a hurry, I tell you. I’ve often wondered 
how he was killed — whether he did it himself, or was 
it some one else’s doings. I never heard of any one 
being down on him. But I wasn’t a-going to talk. 

“ I went back to Dick pell-mell, as fast as the cars 
would carry me, thinking how happy we’d be with 
the money; but he wouldn’t listen to me. He said 
I’d been a bad woman and ruined his life. He was 
willing to spend the money, though ; but it did prove 
his ruin. When he abused me I didn’t mind, for 
I loved him truly, and when he died it broke my 
heart. He never believed I was all right. Then I 
came to Denver and to Chicago, where my baby-boy 
was born. He looked just like Dick. I had kept 
back about $8,000, and I was all right for cash; but 
the fit was on me to spend, and I bought everything. 
Commenced drinking, too, to keep from thinking. 
Then I traveled down to New Orleans, and came up 
North again as far as Philadelphia. Some of my 
money, in a trunk, was lost, and so I had to begin 
7 


98 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


singing and dancing in saloons to get bread; but I’m 
going fast. Baby died here, and then I wanted to die. 
Whoever reads this will know it is the truth — so 
help me God. Estelle Wagner Wells.” 

“ It’s possible,” said the reader, as he refolded the 
MS. and handed it to Hicks. 

“Yes, more than that. It’s probable, and I be- 
lieve it’s true. It simply forces upon me ” 

“What?” 

“ The necessity of looking for those two men,” and 
rising from his chair the detective signified that the 
conference was ended. 

“When do you think you’ll find them?” 

“ Before they're dead, I hope, ” softly replied Reu- 
ben, as he opened the door. 


CHAPTER XI. 


DISSENSIONS. 

Time wings its flight, and it is now the fall of 
1879. The elevated roads have all been leased to 
the Manhattan Railway Company, and this gigantic 
monopoly, with its hideous structures, its dust and 
its racket, is in full control. The Brooklyn Bridge 
is no longer a wonder. Bartholdi’s Statue is yet to 
find a position on Bedloe’s Island. Crime and misery 
do not lessen, but there is a constant birth of joy and 
hope. Life repeats and mirth and sorrow go hand in 
hand. 

Mrs. Catherwood has been Mrs. Harrod for three 
years, and they have been years of peaceful love, 
bringing prosperity to both her and her husband. 
He has become wonderfully famous. As a criminal 
lawyer he stands pre-eminent. Judges listen to his 
pleas with deferential attention, and juries are en- 
tranced by the flights of his impassioned oratory. 
His movements are chronicled in the daily press, 
and his alma mater has proudly conferred degrees 
upon him. He is an honorary member of so many 
historical, scientific and public societies that he could 
hardly enumerate the list. It would be tiresome to 
give them. Political appointments have been thrust 
upon him ; he has been solicited to accept a high Gov- 
99 


IOO 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


ernment office ; but he has been obliged to decline 
all from lack of time to give personal attention to 
the attendant duties. The supervision of his wide- 
spreading legal business has become an onerous tax, 
and he has not been given an opportunity to take a 
day’s outing for two years past. The legal firm of 
Harrod, Haynes & Co. is as well known as any cor- 
poration of law luminaries — for he has united with 
him two partners, men of special talent in their re- 
spective fields of jurisprudence. 

To his wife, in the glory of her family standing 
and social success, there have come minor annoy- 
ances, one of them being the loss of the society of 
her husband, whose business engagements keep him 
almost entirely from her side. But her daughter is 
soon to enter into a marriage alliance that is really 
very satisfactory to the growing desires of the mother 
to be classed among “ the smart set ” — that band only 
slightly inferior in number to those whom Tennyson 
immortalized for their heroic, blundering deed at 
Balaklava — the noble four hundred. (But lately re- 
duced to one hundred and fifty.) 

Mr. Austin’s father had died the year before, leav- 
ing nearly half a million dollars to his “ dear boy,” 
and an ample fortune to each of the young man’s 
sisters, whose position was considered impregnable. 
By this union Mrs. Harrod ’s daughter would become 
a member of an exclusive coterie , and this refulg^ice 
must be largely reflected on herself. It would be 
only a gentle light, perhaps; but her heart’s yearn- 
ings would be satisfied. From Washington Market 
to Murray Hill was a great step in one’s lifetime. 

The Misses Austin were delighted with Helen, and 


DISSENSIONS. 


tol 


already gave her a part of the sisterly affection they 
had always bestowed upon the brother of whom they 
were so proud, to whom they were so fondly de- 
voted ; for, in the language of an acquaintance, “ the 
drug-store was a gold mine.” His practice was 
among the elite — though he would willingly have 
gone into an East-side tenement house if his services 
had been asked — and he had a great reputation as a 
club man, yachtsman and athlete. “ A good, sensi- 
ble family all around, but very swell,” was the ac- 
cepted commendation. 

The young ladies made their own summer dresses 
of Swiss mull and lawn for ntgligi indoor costume, 
could trim their own hats with dainty grace, and the 
dignified, precise mother saved the lace of bygone 
days and discoursed upon the lack of courtesy in the 
present age. And Edwin was so intensely popular, 
everybody said. Really, the three charming demoi- 
selles sometimes bored people terribly with a re- 
capitulation of their dear brother’s many virtues 
and accomplishments. In spite of it all, he was not 
the least bit spoiled, and was in reality a fine young 
fellow of average ability. 

Mrs. Harrod’s own rapidly increasing wealth — for 
the mine dividends had been immense, varying from 
twenty-five to forty per cent, annually — had led her 
to assume many of the responsibilities and much of 
the exclusiveness of her neighbors since her second 
removal to Madison Avenue ; and the proud position 
of her husband, whose name was now being men- 
tioned as a possible candidate for political preference 
and honors, had caused her to affect a demeanor 
quite foreign to the calm repose of the wife and 


102 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


widow of the ex-grocery merchant and mine-owner 
of six years before. 

It was not an improvement, either. She was gain- 
ing in embonpoint , and in the opinion of some of her 
friends was aging more rapidly than would be ex- 
pected from a woman who had hitherto maintained 
a youthful appearance. There was no manifest in- 
consistency in her general manner but the sudden 
acquisition of great wealth is liable to produce new 
emotions, to engender personal habits and a style of 
conversation quite different from those that can be 
assumed or maintained by people who are only in 
ordinary financial circumstances, and which can not 
even be felt by the class of unfortunates known as 
the poverty-stricken. 

There was more hauteur to her bearing and less 
sweetness of disposition. Trivialities that had not 
been noticed in times past became now serious of- 
fences in her eyes ; and yet those eyes were brighter 
than ever. She craved social excitement, and there 
was an artificiality to her laugh, a querulousness in 
her voice, and a spasmodic haste in her daily move- 
ments, that betokened restlessness, and was really 
unpleasant to one for whom she would have yielded 
up her life — her husband. But fashionable life had 
developed inherent nervousness, and the family phy- 
sician, with that carefully prescribed policy of say- 
ing little and doing less, advised rest from all the 
demands of social requirements by a trip abroad. 

Lawyer Harrodhad never regretted this marriage; 
for, though it was impossible for him to reciprocate 
the intensity of love his wife showered upon him, he 
was incapable of showing else than gratitude toward 


DISSENSIONS. 


I03 


the woman who had befriended him when he was 
so sadly in need of sympathy. But a faint disturb- 
ing voice, a species of mental retrospection, always 
told him that there was the nature of a mesalliance in 
this nuptial connection. His own family’s standing 
had been one of the best, as was proven by the fact 
of the hurrying crowd of notabilities who claimed 
friendship and sought his society as he was growing 
famous. But, in self-abasement, he put the unworthy 
thought aside. She had given him the grandest 
proof of a woman’s generosity, and her constancy 
and loyalty to him was marvelous. As for society, 
he had had quite sufficient of the insincerity of that 
element. He felt but little interest in the plunges of 
his wife into the vortex of pleasure or her association 
with a giddy, time-killing crowd, many of them her 
mental inferiors, and nearly all of whom would drop 
her acquaintance with a sneer if she were to be so 
unfortunate as to lose her money. 

Mr. Harrod was not a social success. He was 
simply a great man. His tastes were domestic, and 
in his early manhood he had pictured quite a differ- 
ent home-life from this present one. Mrs. Harrod 
could not for a moment be considered shoddy. If 
she insisted upon meeting in her parlors only the 
crime de la creme, it was because she looked the patri- 
cian, and knew she would not play an ignoble part 
at the reception of her visitors; she was quite able 
to compete with them in a thorough knowledge of 
worldly wisdom. Her dress, the appointments of 
her victoria, and the furnishings of her boudoir , were 
in accordance with the strictest canons of good taste. 
Her conversation was singularly brilliant ; she was 


104 


THE CATHERW00D MYSTERY. 


an adept at repartee, and her conception of a hostess’ 
duties was without a flaw. Her powers of discrim- 
ination and her infinite tact were the result of a na- 
tive talent. Only, Nature had not created her for 
the harassing life of a woman of fashion, and she 
was beginning to realize this truth after some un- 
usual strain of social duties had left her weak and 
dispirited. She should have created a salon , and 
made her magnificent rooms the rendezvous of the 
choice spirits of literature and art, but she had a 
horror of ‘being thought Bohemian ; and yet the light 
chaff and silly gossip of many of those with whom 
she came in contact was neither enlivening nor en- 
tertaining. The trite expressions, the well-worn 
phrases, the colorless converse, were the apotheosis 
of insipidity. Better the staid, humble life of the 
old home on Sixth Avenue, she often thought. 

Her husband would be relieved, however, when 
his step-daughter was gone from the house, for she 
possessed an unusual flow of animal spirits, and her 
merry hosts of girl friends, some three or four of 
whom were always guests, left no opportunity for 
study or contemplation. Her unnatural antipathy 
to him had apparently grown to a venomous hatred 
that was very galling to his proud nature. Sure of 
his own innocence of any cause of offence, he made 
no attempt to obtain an explanation from her, and 
even shielded her when the exasperated mother would 
have sent her away permanently — as she did send 
her for one year to Vassar. Mrs. Harrod punished 
her also by curtailing her allowance of pocket-money, 
and had threatened to reduce her to further submis- 
sion by violent means — close confinement or expa- 


DISSENSIONS. 


105 

triation to a country village being hinted as a means. 
But she had not been able to break the stubborn 
spirit of the daughter in this respect. 

Miss Nellie never noticed her step-father, or spoke 
to him, on any occasion. She declined to appear at 
the table when he was present, and avoided his com- 
pany with a constant precision that caused invidious 
remarks to be made by the few people who became 
aware of her irregular behavior. Her conduct was 
a source of mingled amazement and worriment also 
to Mr. Austin. It seemed to be the one glaring de- 
fect in the lovely character of the young girl. She 
only explained it to herself as an illustration of the 
Dr. Fell theory. The marriage of her mother had 
been private principally on this account, and the 
daughter had remained at home, to the wonder of 
her acquaintances, crying her eyes out over what she 
was pleased to call “ the hideous sacrifice. ” 

Mrs. Harrod had also a bete noir in the person of 
the detective Hicks, who had almost exhausted his 
wondrous faculty of formulating excuses for calling 
upon her, and whom she had finally attempted to 
freeze out of her presence with the chilling statement 
that, if he ever brought her any reliable information 
of the murderer of her former husband that would 
lead to the conviction of the criminal she would pay 
him the sum of $5,000 cash; but she did not wish to 
be annoyed with vague surmises upon the subject, 
and he must refrain from any attempt at correspond- 
ance. He had been unable to gain the reward of 
$10,000 offered with the year’s conditions, and she 
had a belief that he was as pretty thoroughly incom- 
petent as men of his ilk are supposed to be. 


10 6 THE CATHERW00D 'MYSTERY. 

Ever since she had noticed him in Philadelphia, 
during the fortnight they passed there visiting the 
Exposition, it appeared to her nervous fancies as if 
the man was “shadowing” her husband — she had 
seen this expression in the newspapers — for she had 
noticed him watching Mr. Harrod keenly at differ- 
ent times and places. Apparently he was ubiqui- 
tous. Was it possible Hicks knew that her husband 
had been in that fatal room on Ninth Street? She 
shuddered at the thought of any attempt being made 
to fasten the crime upon her adored one. And yet 
the detective was strangely persistent. Since the 
day he had come to her with the statement of his 
belief that the supposed guilty woman who died three 
years before was innocent, she had not seen him; 
but she knew that he was endeavoring to discover 
the identity of the two men who had visited the late 
Mr. Catherwood about the time of that man’s death. 
Was he trying to fasten the crime upon one of those 
unknown callers? Both the behavior of her daughter 
and the detective appeared inexplicable, although 
she was certain that their mutual if not combined 
effort presaged danger to her husband. As she was 
a tender, impressive woman, her life was rendered 
violently unhappy, at intervals, by these occurrences 
or imaginative reflections. But they were only 
slight clouds that dimmed the radiance of the sun 
of prosperity shining upon her and the tide of per- 
fect happiness that swept over her in the enjoyment 
of the unaltering devotion of her husband. Then 
there was the coming marriage of her daughter, and 
the detective was undoubtedly as stupid as the gen- 
erality of his kind. All this would probably bring 


DISSENSIONS. 


to? 

an ending to the troubles that embarrassed her, and 
with the thought a happier look crept over the face 
that had grown slightly wan and pinched in the past 
few months — a face that would really need cosmet- 
ics to retain its freshness before long. She did not 
know it, but at that very time Hicks had found the 
peddler, and this is how it happened. 


CHAPTER XII. 


MR. SAMPSON, GENTLEMAN. 

Late in the fall of 1873, a man, short and stout, 
dressed in rich but gaudy apparel, made his appear- 
ance in Poughkeepsie, and after a series of consulta- 
tions with the leading real-estate agents had pur- 
chased a large and one-time remunerative farm. It 
lay close to the suburbs, and he gradually trans- 
formed the place into a country-seat of great beauty, 
revolutionizing the face of nature by leveling banks, 
filling in gullies, smoothing the waste places, intro- 
ducing gas and water pipes, and creating an artificial 
lake. He built a mansion that was palatial in its 
accoutrements, with all the accessories of a gentle- 
man’s habitation, containing an almost unnecessary 
number of billiard-rooms and bath-rooms leading 
from an open hall or court, in which a fountain 
splashed into a marble basin. In cages suspended 
from the glittering ceiling were rare birds of plum- 
age and warbling canaries. Gorgeous chandeliers, 
costly paintings, magnificent furniture, and gilded 
decorations enhanced the beauty of this establish- 
ment, which the workmen there employed declared to 
be the equal of any residence in New York This was 
hardly true, however. The gingerbread element 
prevailed. It was known that the silverware came 
from Tiffany’s, and the carpets and curtains were 
said to have been imported. A short distance away 
108 


MR. SAMPSON, GENTLEMAN. 109 

was a stable that was proportionately costly, with 
splendid equipages and a superior stud of horses. 
Adorning the grounds was every form of shrub and 
flower, and in their midst was a conservatory of con- 
spicuous elegance. Along the paths and under the 
shade of the noble chestnut, maple, and oak trees 
was rare statuary, whose loveliness was accentuated 
at night by flashes of light from resplendent lamps. 
Concrete pavements and graveled and brick-laid 
walks led in many windings to bowers where iron 
chairs and tables awaited wandering lovers or con- 
templative student. 

Though his house was appointed with serving men 
and women, and his stable was manned by grooms 
and coachman, he dwelt there alone, and lived dur- 
ing the winter, with the exception of one lengthened 
visit to the great city below, in rather splendid ob- 
scurity. Fitting himself to his new environments 
occupied his attention for some months. “ Hartley 
Sampson, gentleman,” was the answer he gave to the 
local census-gatherer when importuned for his name 
and occupation. There was one marked absence in 
the list of rooms— that of a library. ’Tis true, a 
small, delicately furnished room in crimson bore that 
appellation ; but nothing of a literary character, save 
an occasional daily paper and some sporting journals, 
was to be seen on the centre-table in conjunction with 
a box of cigars and a general smoking-outfit. A 
Turkish fez and a dressing-gown hung in the ward- 
robe with glass doors that stood in one corner of this 
room. 

Some of the old-time residents suddenly remem- 
bered that a certain Tom Sampson, a sort of ne’er- 


I 10 


THE CATHERW00D MYSTERY. 


do-well, had rented this farm when they were young 
men, and that he had a son, “Hart,” who had run 
away from home a quarter of a century ago. 

“ Sure enough. ” “Do tell!” exclaimed the elder 
gossips; “that’s the boy.” And another voice added : 
“Say! He’s made a fortin, and come home to en- 
joy it.” 

Then in their kindness of heart they hastened to 
call upon the wealthy prodigal, sure of a hearty wel- 
come, and consumed with an anxious desire to assist 
him in the expenditure of so much surplus money — 
for he must be a veritable Monte Cristo to judge 
from his magnificent beginnings. They were met, 
however, at the front door by a footman in regal at- 
tire, who after looking them over explained in strange, 
fashionable, set sentences that the “ marster” was en- 
gaged, or that he did not receive visitors at that hour, 
or he was not at home. They were never able to 
place foot inside the portals. And then, bewildered 
and humiliated, in the bitterness of their resentment 
they sneered at his being described as a “gentle- 
man” — which fact the census-taker had eagerly 
given as a particularly funny bit of news. 

“ Gentleman!” snarled one bucolic individual, who 
sat on a keg just outside the door of an old-town gro- 
cery much frequented by the farmers. He swung 
his tongue, moving the quid of tobacco from one 
cheek to the other, and gave a petulant hitch to the 
cotton suspenders that held up his blue drilling over- 
alls. “ Darn him ! I ain’t forgit he’s the son of 
old Tom Sampson, who wasn’t worth shucks, and 
would have died in the poor-house ef that steer of 
Abe Pierson’s hadn’t hooked him ter death.” 


MR. SAMPSON, GENTLEMAN. 


Ill 


And his hearers, who remembered this fact, and 
had sundry recollections of the old man’s shiftless- 
ness, shook their heads warmly in strong condemna- 
tion of the “gentleman” and in approval of these 
words, with a muttered “ Jest so.” The sentiment 
of the agricultural class was strong against Hartley 
Sampson. The opinions of his neighbors affected 
that individual but little, however. What did make 
his life bitter, though, was the fact that but very 
few of the wealthy people cared to have the pleasure 
of his acquaintance. Only some young men whom 
he met casually in the billiard-rooms and at the hotel 
bars ever enjoyed the hospitality of his gorgeous res- 
idence, though there was a surfeit of it offered to any 
stray comer who represented what the new proprietor 
called “ first-class folks. ” 

As for the real leaders of society, the Livingstons, 
De Peysters, and others, as soon as they heard of his 
brief genealogy they did not wish to know more. 
He was forever outside their charmed circle. His 
coarseness of mind and manner, his uneducated 
speech, his flaring attire, had led people to recog- 
nize him as simply a boor with a pocket full of 
money, and his attempts to gain entree into the 
homes of refinement and culture met with a chilling 
disdain that caused him to mutter many an oath at 
what he dubbed “their cussed stuckupedness. ” 

The acceptances to an intended grand ball and 
supper he gave, about the first of March, were so 
very few that he withdrew from the struggle in in- 
tense disgust, and filled his house with members of 
the jeunesse doree and men about town, whom he be- 
guiled into drinking his wines and holding baccha- 


1 1 2 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


nalian orgies in the spacious chambers set aside for 
guests. Marvelous tales were told of stained velvet 
carpets, broken glassware, and the ruin inflicted upon 
costly bric-a-brac, all of which was replaced and re- 
plenished with an ungrudging hand and a careless 
smile by this man of gold. His indifference to the 
expense or price of any article desired was the one 
really aristocratic trait that brought him the good- 
will ofisome who were inclined to sneer at his pre- 
tensions while accepting his invitations to make 
themselves at home under his roof. He was above 
asking advice, and too stubborn to accept it if of- 
fered with the kindliest motives. If he had possessed 
sufficient skill to avail himself of the ideas of others, 
exercising the same humility he had shown when 
depending upon the judgment of his architect, up- 
holsterer, and landscape gardener, he might ulti- 
mately have found grace in the eyes of those who 
were disposed to regard him as shoddy ; but unfort- 
unately he did not possess the art of gentlemanly 
appropriation, for he was utterly deficient in clever- 
ness and tact. 

Thinking that marriage would accelerate his rise 
to social position, he was sufficiently bold in this 
purpose to address a lady teacher of the city schools — 
a girl of rare beauty and superior accomplishments, 
whose dead father had been an unsuccessful merchant, 
but whose kinship with several of the leading fami- 
lies surrounded both herself and mother with affec- 
tionate regard and many refined delights. In fact, 
it was generally supposed that a distant relative, a 
crusty bachelor of some means, would leave the 
young lady his fortune and thus rehabilitate her 


MR. SAMPSON, GENTLEMAN. 113 

household, though he evinced but little interest in 
her present welfare. It was impossible for Samp- 
son to know that her delicate lips assumed a curve 
of scornful wonder when the proposition was con- 
veyed to her by means of an inelegant and badly 
composed communication. The stationery was de 
rigueur , but it needed only the quiet sarcasm of her 
declination of the proffered honor, written in the 
third person, to give him his quietus in the attempt 
of achieving worldly honors. Between gulps of fiery 
brandy, drained to sustain his crushed spirit after 
the perusal of her two-lined response, he swore his 
undying hate for the “hull lot and boodle of them.” 
When he projected any more matrimonial schemes, 
he would marry the chambermaid, if necessary; but 
for the present he would have a “good time.” 

Thoroughly discomfited in his praiseworthy desires 
— for the aim to attain a position beyond one’s present 
status is not a fit subject for jest or ridicule; it is 
only from such endeavors that the truly great have 
made themselves a component part of the world’s his- 
tory — he gave full scope to his gross and convivial 
inclinations, and Sampson Hall, as he had designated 
his new abode, soon became a synonym in the neigh- 
boring community for rude and boisterous revelry. 
He made frequent trips to New York City, where he 
found an abundance of congenial associations — al- 
though he peremptorily discarded every acquaintance 
of former years, and passed his summers at sea-side 
resorts of more or less repute and fashionable stand- 
ing. Finally, he went to Europe and tried to “ do ” 
the Continent ; but outside of English-speaking cir- 
cles he found his ignorance was a stumbling-block 
8 


1 14 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

to his ready appreciation of the charms of travel, and 
after wandering about aimlessly for eight months, 
robbed in Naples and nearly garroted in Seville, he 
returned, wiser in experience and with some slight 
trace of polish. In his coarsely expressed dictum, 
New York was “the boss town — a regular hummer, 
and the United States was good enough” for him. 
As pleasure was his motive in life, the spirit of the 
command, dim vivimus , vivamus , was accepted by him 
as a religious creed, in the practical illustration of 
which he believed he was helping to drown care and 
make a prosy or miserable existence less “ blue” for 
such of his fellow-mortals as came in contact with 
him. 

But the pace was one that led to final ruin, and 
while he had sufficient wit to recognize the fact (for he 
was not brutal in his cups, and possessed a substra- 
tum of hard common sense), there was an expressed 
determination that he would get the good out of the 
most of his fortune before the end came. He was a 
man of ordinary instincts, of very mediocre brain- 
power, and in the expenditure of his money acted as 
much wiser people have often done — spent it extrav- 
agantly and foolishly. He was not averse to “ turn- 
ing an honest penny,” as he said, and during his 
tour abroad his property had been rented at a good 
figure. He had also reserved to himself the profits 
from the sale of rare flowers and plants grown in his 
conservatory, thus netting a considerable income. 
His lack of education had been of some annoyance to 
him, but with only the ability to read, write, and 
calculate the ordinary mathematical questions of 
daily life, he could not conceive the value of a graded 


MR. SAMPSON, GENTLEMAN. 115 

course of study. He did engage the services of a 
teacher — one of those ingenious individuals who ad- 
vertise to repair neglected educations — who guaran- 
teed to make a passable scholar of him in six months, 
but, although he was a docile pupil, he couldn’t 
comprehend declensions and conjugations, “ couldn’t 
get the hitch of grammar,” he told his instructor. 
“Hain’t”was the negative of “ain’t” to him. He 
would have blushed if he had used the form “aren’t,” 
and he had no memory for dates and facts. A spell- 
ing-book and a dictionary were kept at his right hand 
for reference, but reading was a bore to him, and his 
literary progress was slow. There were also, some 
dollars he had invested in deportment lessons and 
fancy dancing ; but he felt, as he expressed it, that 
he was only making a fool of himself, and soon threw 
that effort aside. Like the farmer’s daughter at the 
seminary, the one great characteristic he lacked was 
ability. But he was also weak in his powers of 
application, and was easily discouraged. The bril- 
liantly lighted cafe, the alluring bar-room, the se- 
ductiveness of the theatre, the coarse insipidity of 
the variety hall, appealed entirely to his mind and 
fully satisfied his senses. For them all he felt a vim 
and lusty appreciation, and he had had more than a 
five years’ stretch of fun now, as he told himself 
about the New Year of 1879. 

Since his return from foreign travel, he had be- 
come more exclusive: he had learned that that was 
one proper thing to do ; and he associated with hardly 
any one when at home, keeping quite aloof from 
those he had previously hailed as boon companions. 
He could do without them, he swore beneath his 


II 6 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

breath ; some one had remarked in his presence that 
an oath was vulgar. His character at this time was 
undergoing a transition process. When he wanted 
to meet “some real, jolly good fellers,” he could find 
them in ’York, and incidentally he had made the 
half-acquaintance of some men of prominence in his 
rounds. In his sober moments he would only affect 
the company of people who were somebody. It is 
probable that if his good fortune had continued he 
would have removed to the city permanently, united 
with Tammany Hall, as his political convictions were 
in accordance with the demands of that organization, 
and might have entered the field as a candidate for 
office. There was a heavy craving in the man’s soul 
for advancement, and he had an assured feeling 
that he could become quite as intelligent an aider- 
man or police justice as some he had seen filling 
those positions of trust and profit, if not of honor. 

Reuben Hicks, while visiting Poughkeepsie on 
general business, had his attention drawn to the man 
as the latter was sipping a mint- julep at the hotel 
bar, and upon hearing little bits of Sampson’s his- 
tory suddenly experienced a strong desire to know 
more about him. The detective was subject to these 
impressions of clairvoyance, and always heeded their 
warning. Men who had, from the lowest rounds of 
the ladder of life, climbed up to a height that dazzled 
their less fortunate brethren always possessed a strong 
interest for him. He knew many such in the city. 
Securing an introduction to the wealthy ignoramus 
through a casual acquaintance, he began, in his 
shrewd method of inquiry, which did not involve 
asking questions, to ascertain the source of the finaii- 


MR. SAMPSON, GENTLEMAN. 


117 


cial strength of one whose endeavors to secure so- 
cial recognition had become the standing joke of 
the community. But the poor boy who had run 
away from home and returned as a mild type of the 
Edmond Dantes sort (his only revenge being the 
purchase of a farm where his father had lived like a 
serf) was not a communicative person. He was not 
gifted with a voluble tongue, or with the power of 
expressing his thoughts with elegance or terseness; 
and he was, moreover, naturally wary and unin- • 
dined to yield much information regarding him- 
self. His life had been one of hard work until the 
last few years, and he never had any opportunities 
for anything else. He knew New York well? Yes, 
had lived there at different times. His money had 
been derived from mining speculations, he said. 
His familiarity with the geography and locale of the 
far West satisfied Hicks that the man had at least 
known the places he mentioned with the pleasant 
air of bonhomie a man of the world would naturally 
assume. There was nothing uncommon in the fact 
of a person of Sampson’s grade being able to achieve 
a fortune. There were many instances in the coun- 
try of “nobodies” who had dug fabulous sums out of 
the earth or held a nation’s crop of food in their grip ; 
but the detective could not see any evidence about 
this one that he had ever possessed sufficient energy 
to account for his success. Unless he failed to read 
Sampson’s character aright, the fellow was weak and 
vacillating, and did not have that stamina which 
will make one take twenty rebuffs before he flinches. 
His complete resignation to the fact that he had 
failed to secure a favorable acceptance of himself by 


1 18 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

the society leaders of this town was in itself a cor- 
roborative indication. But, then, the weakest men 
have sometimes a fool’s luck. 

There was Catherwood, for instance, whose life’s 
history he almost knew by heart. Catherwood ! Why, 
that man was from Poughkeepsie ! Did the two know 
each other? What a happy thought! They must 
have met here in their youth. But were they inti- 
mately acquainted? There was perhaps a difference 
of fifteen or eighteen years in the men’s ages, but 
that would not have prevented each having knowl- 
edge of the other’s existence, though they would 
hardly have been associates. How he would like 
to ask the question ; but it was not expedient now. 

A hasty glance at the moon-faced clock in the hotel 
corridor told him it was time to start for the station, 
as he had proposed returning at a certain hour. 
He would be happy to renew the acquaintance, he 
said to Sampson, who shook hands in farewell with 
all apparent cordiality, but who watched him leave 
with a suspicious glance in his beady, black eyes. 
He didn’t like these persons who were “ so pleased ” 
to meet him. They probably had some intention of 
getting him to loosen his purse-strings, and he had 
begun thinking of introducing an era of economy 
into his affairs. One thing that had been impressed 
upon him during his foreign sojourn was how sense- 
less this American fashion of pouring intoxicating 
beverages down your companion’s throat at your 
own expense is. As for “ treating, ” he was begin- 
ning to shun the custom as of useless purpose. You 
couldn’t make a friend by any such process. Again, 
he wasn’t anxious to extend his list of new friends. 


MR. SAMPSON, GENTLEMAN. 


119 


Experience had taught him that what were known as 
the best people must be approached by him. There 
had been only a few of that class that would accept 
his acquaintance on any condition. What was the 
reason he wasn’t as good as any of them? His clothes 
and his food cost as much, but they would not re- 
gard him as an equal. They were so insistent in this 
respect that he was unwillingly forced to believe 
they must be right. Their affability, courtesy, and 
perfect repose of manner awed him, and he couldn’t 
imitate their ways with any degree of success. Still, 
what did the Declaration of Independence say? He 
shook his fist in impotent rage at the empty air, and 
was dispirited the rest of that day, thinking of these 
chaotic conditions. 

But Hicks, on the contrary, was quite gleeful. 
He was exceedingly glad to add to the schedule of 
proper names held in his retentive memory that of 
Hartley Sampson, gentleman. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


a night’s adventure. 

Consequently, when the sharp detective, who had 
not found an opportunity to revisit Poughkeepsie- 
on-the-Hudson, came face to face with the wealthy 
parvenu almost in front of the Sun building, he was 
delighted beyond measure, and the hearty shake of 
the hand with which he greeted the other was gen- 
uine; for there was no man on earth he could be 
more pleased to meet. 

It had for years been a duty with him to stroll 
about City Hall Square, along Nassau Street and Park 
Row, past the Post Office, crossing Broadway, to 
look in at the Astor House, and then retrace his 
steps as far north as Chambers Street, coming back 
in front of the Mayor’s office again, between five 
and six o’clock in the evening; for then it was that 
all professional and business New York turned its 
face homeward, and the immense throng went hur- 
rying up-town, sweeping toward the Bowery or rush- 
ing for the surface-cars and elevated stations. It 
was such a vantage-ground of observation that the 
simplest citizen of honest intent would readily under- 
stand why a man-catcher should choose the place 
for a promenade at that time of day. It was a trifle 
past the swarm; the crowd was thinning, and the 
ghostly glare of the electric lights had just fallen 
120 


A night’s adventure. 


I 2 I 


upon the departing rays of the dying day. Standing 
in the shade, Hicks had an opportunity for a brief 
glance only, but his mild-looking eyes had immedi- 
ately recognized the features of one who had been a 
source of tantalizing thought to him for the past 
few weeks. Sampson was dressed in an ordinary 
suit of dark cloth donned for the occasion, and wore 
a heavy slouch hat instead of the usual silk tile that 
he kept in a condition of habitual shiningness. His 
gait was irregular, for he had been drinking heavily — 
an unusual proceeding, as a certain amount of dis- 
cretion generally kept him from over-indulgence. 
But, giving rein to long-repressed desires, he had 
started out on a spree, after advisedly leaving his 
valuables and best clothes at the hotel where he so- 
journed; and after half a day’s debauch he was on 
the borders of heavy intoxication. His naturally 
florid face was of a carmine hue. Hicks saw the 
signs, and, with lightning-like change of attitude, 
he assumed an air of conviviality suitable to the oc- 
casion by tipping his derby hat back on his head, 
gave his hair a rakish look by pulling some locks 
over one ear, and thrust one hand deep into his trou- 
ser’s pocket as he caught his companion’s arm. It 
was one more instance where appearances are de- 
ceitful, but his greeting was so uproarious that some 
sedate passers-by were greatly horrified at this dis- 
play on the public streets, nervously wondering 
where the police were, and why they did not attend 
to their duty ; while a half-dozen newsboys and boot- 
blacks, thinking they scented a chance for guying 
the two, and at the same time making a ready sale 
of their wares — if a “ shine” can be included under 


122 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


the head of merchandise — crowded about them. A 
roll of bills protruding from Sampson’s vest-pocket 
caused one of them to herald the good news to his 
comrades by shouting: “Here’s a bloke wid loads 
of de long green!” It was seldom an opportunity 
was given them, in their bailiwick, to realize a larger 
cash sum than a nickel, and this was not to be neg- 
lected. As one of the boys whispered to a friend : 
“These fellers wouldn’t take nary change.” 

The country gentleman threw them half a dollar, 
in various bits of silver, over which there was a 
mighty scramble. One of the smallest “ kids” seized 
the quarter first, and his little begrimed feet went 
twinkling round the corner and down Spruce Street. 

“ Glad to see you, Mr. Sampson. I’m just giving 
myself a little turn. How are you? And how’s 
Pokeep? Haven’t much of a load on yet, but I’m 
taking in the sights. Want to come along?” 

‘Don’t care if I do,” said the other, glad for the 
moment to see a familiar face, and feeling that in 
company there was security. “ I’m a little that way 
myself,” he continued with much cordiality of tone. 
Hicks’ spontaneous outburst of confidence in telling 
him that wine had no terrors was very consoling to 
his own abased condition. He rejoiced to know that 
this lately formed acquaintance wasn’t any better, 
in one respect, than himself. Vice always feels it- 
self insulted by the presence of virtue. 

“ Notice my old duds,” he continued with a maud- 
lin chuckle. “ There, go ’ way, boys — no more change 
for you,” and as they slowly dispersed he started on 
with the detective. “Got tired of the respectable 
life above, you know, and so have come down for 


a night’s adventure. 


123 


some fun. Old story to me, though,” shaking his 
head with owl-like wisdom, as if he was thoroughly 
blast. 

The two turned down Frankfort Street at the comer 
of French’s Hotel, the site now occupied by the World 
building, and passed on to the Bowery, entering one 
dram-shop after another. Hicks only moistened his 
lips with the various kinds of liquors, surreptitiously 
throwing the contents of his glass on the floor or in 
a spittoon when not leaving the “ drink” untasted, as 
the opportunity occurred, while Sampson swallowed 
his beverages greedily. It was not the intention 
of the detective, however, to allow his comrade to 
be overcome, and so the night’s entertainment was 
varied by a supper at one saloon, a game of cards at 
another, and a lunch of clam chowder in a restau- 
rant. The gentleman from up the Hudson would 
not indulge in any personal confidences, although he 
stopped in the midst of a drunken chorus he was 
bellowing to thank Hicks for the proposition that 
they should take a ride, “ just to get rid of the ef- 
fects. ” 

The detective stopped the cab at Clinton Place, 
on Broadway, pulled his companion out to the side- 
walk, and slowly strolled down to University Place, 
with Sampson slightly stumbling along and cling- 
ing to his friend’s arm. It was then nearly mid- 
night. They walked up the block and casually 
turned down Ninth Street. Sampson had humbly 
acquiesced to every suggestion and movement of the 
other, but just now his curiosity seemed to be awak- 
ened. 

“ Wher — wher you’re going?” he stuttered. 


124 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


“ Nowhere in particular. Hello! Let’s cross the 
street. I don’t like to go by that house.” 

“ Whazzer matter?” exclaimed the drunken man, 
staring wildly around and reeling to and fro as he 
clutched at the other’s arm with a maudlin grasp, 
and then swung himself as he held to the lamp-post 
at the edge of the walk. 

“ That’s the house where my friend, Catherwood, 
was killed. No one lives ” 

“ Catherwood !” almost yelled the apparently terror- 
stricken man, his tones thick and harsh, but, as it 
appeared, suddenly awed into comparative sobriety. 
Then with heavy, suspicious look and manner he 
growled: “ Sa-ay — hie. Who are you, anyhow?” 

“Oh, I’m a chemist. But that reminds me. 
Catherwood was from your town. He was a good 
fellow. Did you know him?” 

“ I’ve seen — hie — seen him. Come, let’s go ’long — 
hie. Sa-ay, old fel. I’ll bid — hie — you good-night 
— hie,” with an evident serious intention of getting 
away by himself. “ I’m goin’ to the — hie — hotel.” . 

Hicks was almost in despair. He had given his 
voice the guttural tone of a half-drunken man, knocked 
a dent in his hat and disarranged his necktie, that 
he might be in unison with the appearance of the 
common chap he had been pulling around town. 
The small amount of whiskey he had been forced to 
take had given quite a ruby appearance to his face, 
though there had been considerable muscular exer- 
tion in half-carrying Sampson, and to all intents they 
were a pongenial pair of night-birds, or “rounders.” 
It was a sickening necessity to him that he must com- 
plete the programme, but now he experienced a sen- 


A night’s ADVENTURE. 125 

sation of alarm lest his strategy should prove a fail- 
ure. Nothing of importance had been learned — 
only that Sampson knew something of Catherwood. 
Possibly he had heard of the murder, had read the 
newspaper accounts, and his exclamation, rather 
frenzied as it was, might be only the surprise of a 
stupid inebriate. The man declined to answer any 
more questions. He was quickly getting into an 
unpleasant humor, and would insist upon taking his 
departure alone. The noisy, roistering display of 
good fellowship had gone, leaving only the symptoms 
of an ugly temper. He was armed with a revolver, 
for Hicks had felt the round butt of the handle in 
intentional search. Quite worried, he looked ahead 
and saw a party — a rough set — coming up the street 
from Sixth Avenue, and now only a few rods away. 
He would not let this man go to-night. His mind 
caught the only chance left. Under one pretext and 
another he delayed the departure of his unwilling 
associate. As the half-dozen young men, who had 
been making a tour of the saloons, came to the cor- 
ner, spreading themselves over the sidewalk like 
typical toughs, indifferent to any one’s welfare but 
their own, Hicks slightly pushed Sampson against 
the nearest one, sending the fellow back against the 
letter-box. 

“What der yer mean?” he shouted, instantly as- 
suming his beau-icttal of a pugilistic attitude. 

“Get outer way — hie,” responded Sampson. 

“Out yer way! Take that, yer duffer!” and a 
hearty slap in the face helped to sober the stagger- 
ing man. 

“ Did he hit you, chum?” cried the detective, ap- 


126 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


parently in great rage. “No man can strike a friend 
of mine; ” and, to prove his words, he planted a blow 
between the fellow’s eyes that sent him sprawling in 
the street. Then, as the crowd rushed at him, out 
went his arms with wonderful swiftness and force, 
and the hard fists and trained muscles were brought 
to play on two more who went tumbling into the 
gutter. The fourth man he clasped round the neck 
with a strangler’s grasp, while by a well-directed 
kick he rendered another hors de combat . All the 
knowledge and experience gained in youth, when 
he was a crack player at “ shinny ” and foot-ball, 
was now utilized, and the quondam farmer’s boy was 
a wonderful combination of striking arms and legs 
with all their old-time suppleness. It was a deter- 
mined, perhaps quixotic, purpose that had engaged 
him in this fracas; but now, thrown into a conflict 
where possibly his life was at stake, great fear seized 
upon him. Would Sampson show cowardice and 
fly from the scene, leaving him alone to disentangle 
himself from what might become a murderous affray ! 
No. That individual, dazed but reliant, staggered 
back from the tall iron fence, and stood for a mo- 
ment amazed and gratified at this display of heroic 
action in his behalf. Hicks was true blue, after all, 
and his suspicions were lulled. Not lacking in valor, 
he took part in the fight by jumping toward the two 
men who were now scrambling up out of the street, 
ready to rush in with intent to kill. He had his re- 
volver ready for use. It was suddenly grabbed away 
from him at his back. Two policemen, who had 
been leisurely strolling up from the Brevoort House 
corner, discussing their servant-girl conquests, were 


A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE. 


I27 


now on the scene. They performed some indiscrim- 
inate clubbing for a few seconds, and when tired one 
seized Sampson, while the other caught hold of the 
man that was just recovering from that first terrific 
knock-down blow. The latter’s companions were 
running down the street. Many heads were to be 
seen at the windows of the Berkeley, and several 
private families in the neighborhood had been 
aroused. 

This condition of affairs was only partly satisfac- 
tory to the detective, and in furtherance of the rdle 
he had enacted to play, he made himself so offensive 
in speech and action that the larger and more irate 
conservator of the peace, after admonishing him “ to 
hould his tongue, ” at last let his prisoner go and seized 
upon Hicks with a personal animosity, threatening 
him with “ a taste of the sthick ” if he did not come 
on peacefully. It was a walk of a few blocks, and 
then the green lights on each side of the main en- 
trance or “ stoop ” glimmered before them. 

At the Mercer Street station-house, the charge 
was made against them both of being drunk and dis- 
orderly, with the additional one, in Sampson’s case, 
of carrying concealed weapons. They were about 
to be led to different cells, when Hicks asked to be 
put back with his friend. The turnkey would have 
brusquely refused, but the coat pulled open before 
him showed the detective’s shield pinned on the vest, 
and he assented with a knowing leer as he looked 
into the clear eyes of the man who had never been 
intoxicated. 

“All right,’’ he grunted assent. “I understand. 
It’s a plant.” 


128 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


A thousand years’ protestation of fealty could not 
have won such a hold upon Sampson’s good-will as 
had this night’s occurrence. A practical man, to 
the extent of his little wisdom, he knew the superior 
worth of deeds over soft promises or cajoling speech. 
His offensive look and bearing of a half-hour before 
had entirely disappeared. With the fumes of beer 
and vile gin still steaming his brain, he could plainly 
recognize that this brave man had jeopardized his 
own life by a strong defence from the gang that had 
pounced upon him — probably for the purpose of 
robbery, as he wore a diamond pin, of great value, 
which he had forgotten to remove with his other val- 
uables. And Hicks, after fighting with massive 
power and cat-like agility, had even by his subse- 
quent conduct become a sharer of this cold cell in 
the lock-up with him. Surely there could be no 
stronger test of friendship than all this. He became 
confidential, almost loving, in his assertions of ap- 
preciation and fidelity, as if suffering from remorse 
to think he could have misjudged such a magnificent 
man ; told the pseudo-chemist that he would reward him 
for his courageous conduct, gave little biographical 
sketches of his past life, and spoke in drunken pom- 
posity of his great wealth at present. 

“ I’ve been as poor as the poorest, old fel — hie,” 
he articulated huskily, while sitting on the bench, 
reeling to and fro, with one arm thrown around the 
detective’s shoulders. “Not so long ago — hie — 
either.” 

“ Ever in any other biz than mining?” asked Hicks, 
carelessly suppressing an assumed yawn and stretch- 
ing himself, although he was in a quiver of nervous 


a night’s adventure. 


129 


excitement, believing- that he was on the verge of a 
great discovery. 

“Mining be hanged!” growled the other. “Oh 
yes — hie,” changing his statement with a check of 
drunken gravity, and peering into his companion’s 
face, while his head wobbled in every direction. 
“ Biz — hie — all sorts. Kept store and — hie — run on 
a ferry — hie — boat. Why, I peddled — hie — soap and 
— hie — shoe-strings in this town — hie — once.” 

“ Humph ! You were a peddler, then. When was 
that ?" 

“ Lemmer see. ’Bout the year — hie — ’bout the — 
hie — year ; ” but his mental organism was exhausted : 
a drunken stupor crept over him, and the head sunk 
down as Hicks, after repeated questionings which 
failed to elicit any response, let him slip gently to 
the floor, where he was at once fast asleep. 

“ About the year Catherwood was killed, I guess. 
I think I’ve caught you, my gentleman. It’s a 
good night’s work,” murmured the detective, and 
joyously, with another look at the open mouth and 
the suffused features of the man who lay heavily 
breathing in brutish slumber, he stretched his limbs 
on the coarse pallet for a few hours’ rest. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


FINDING THE MONEY. 

The morning’s light found both men aroused from 
their brief sleep. Sampson had opened his bleary 
eyes first, for he had wonderful powers of recupera- 
tion, and he stared long and earnestly at the sleeping 
figure near him. Yes, it was not a dream. Hicks 
had done battle for him, for the man had a deep 
scratch on his cheek, from which blood had flowed: 
“ Some of those fellers had clawed him and the 
sleeve of his coat was torn to the elbow. 

A slight movement from Sampson, and the detect- 
ive was awakened. He had once told an acquaint- 
ance that the scratching of a pin on any hard surface 
would arouse him from the deepest slumber, so easily 
did he control his physical nature. 

“Heavens! how my head aches,” he exclaimed, 
sitting up, and, in pursuance of his dramatic effort, 
clasping his hand above his eyes. His disordered 
dress and frowsy hair readily assisted, at a casual 
glance, the desired illusion that he “ had been out 
with the boys.” Still, his face looked remarkably 
clear and bright for a victim of a night’s dissipation, 
and this excited a sneering comment from the parched 
lips and a bitter expression in the bloodshot orbs of 
Sampson. 

“You don’t look as ef you’d drank a drop,” and 
130 


FINDING THE MONEY. 131 

his own swollen cheek-bone, inflamed countenance, 
and nervous trembling of body, which he could feel, 
if not see, rendered the contrast between them more 
striking. 

“I’m seasoned to it, that’s all,” replied Hicks, as 
he stroked his injured face, and with a light smile 
pinned together the flowing strands of his coat- 
sleeve. “I’m sure that fight drove all the liquor 
out of me,” he continued, paying no attention to the 
implication of the other’s tone. 

“You’re a good one, too,” spoke up Sampson, his 
generous impulses returning as he thought of those 
wonderful blows in his behalf. “ I kin never thank 
you enough. How I wish I could git a drink!” for 
his mouth was as stiff as card-board, and his throat 
longed for some inspiriting liquid. His eyes roved 
furtively about the cell. 

“ Doyer know, pard,” he continued, relapsing into 
his former mood, “ I didn’t take toyer very kindly at 
fust; but a feller that’ll stand up for a stranger as 
yer did fer me, must be the right sort. I think yere 
solid. Shake!” 

And he offered his stubby digits in grandiloquent 
gesture to the detective, who clasped them with a 
hand that was bruised and swollen. The last night’s 
pleasures had been attended with some discomforts, 
but true knowledge is to be sought under difficulties. 
There is no royal road to geometry or to gaining the 
confidence of a suspected criminal. Sampson now 
saw this evidence of the injury his friend had re- 
ceived and staring at the fingers that lay within his 
grasp his liking for the owner of them increased an- 
other hundred per cent. 


132 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

“ Skinned yer knuckles, didn’t yer? Well, don’t 
forgit this. I know a friend when I find one, and I 
can’t do too much for him.” 

Hicks bowed his acknowledgment of the gracious 
sentiment. His head was now really beginning to 
ache, and his soul was filled with a loathing of his 
actions and environments. He waited impatiently 
for the release that would let him get back to fresh 
water, clothes and linen, for with him cleanliness was 
next to godliness. Possibly he gave it prior atten- 
tion. Soon the door was thrown open, and they 
were commanded to come out. The police magis- 
trate noticed the manly and unaffected bearing of 
Hicks, in contrast to the sullen and wicked expres- 
sion of the companion, and while he fined them both 
— the total of which Sampson loudly insisted upon 
paying-— mused on the discrepancy until, after their 
departure, the turnkey whispered in his ear. 

“Ah, yes, I see,” he remarked, a smile chasing 
away the look of perplexity on his face. 

After leaving the station-house, the two delin- 
quents walked a few blocks up town, Sampson pro- 
fuse in his expressions of gratitude, thankful for that 
which “he couldn’t forgit,” until the detective, bored 
with his never-ending promises, poured a flood of 
farewell greetings upon him and hastened away to 
his home, stopping but a moment at the office to 
have a man detailed to watch Sampson’s movements. 
The “ shadow ” reported, three hours later, that the 
man had first dosed himself into a partly normal 
condition, had had the discolored flesh under his eye 
painted, arranged his toilet, and had taken the train 
for Poughkeepsie. A line wired to that city caused 


FINDING THE MONEY. 133 

one of the home detectives to be ordered “ to keep 
an eye ” on the ex-peddler. 

Five days’ silence, and then Hicks received an 
effusive invitation to visit Sampson Hall at his ear- 
liest convenience. He sent a reply stating that he 
would come at once, as he would be too busily en- 
gaged after that week ; and upon stepping off the 
car, twenty-four hours later, was cordially received 
by the country gentleman, who was now clothed in 
his proper apparel and right mind. The difference 
between the individual now wearing a fashionably 
cut cheviot suit and immaculate linen, with well- 
trimmed beard and carefully brushed hair, was so 
great from that of the unkempt-looking “ bum ” who 
had lain on the bare floor of a cell only a week be- 
fore, that the detective was slightly nonplussed, and 
the kindly manner in which Sampson pointed out 
places of interest, as they were bowled along the 
smooth road behind a pair of fast-stepping blooded 
horses, impressed the visitor peculiarly. 

There was much of the quiet grace of the boulevcir- 
dier about Sampson when in his best moods. A 
warrant for this man’s arrest was inside Hicks’ 
pocket, but the charge was based entirely on sup- 
position. He did not deny the possible danger to 
which he might be subjected, for his host had some- 
thing of the desperado’s nature, and it was to be a 
game of hide-and-seek between them. Sampson 
might be a cowardly rascal, who could be controlled 
wholly by fear. At least, Hicks did not believe that 
gratitude alone had prompted this man to extend the 
hospitalities of his home. Undoubtedly, he wanted to 
ascertain just what the detective was trying to know. 


134 THE catherwood mystery. 

The special purpose of Sampson’s desire to enjoy 
Hicks’ company soon became apparent as they sat 
in the small parlor to which they had adjourned after 
partaking of an elegant lunch. It was then nearly 
five o’clock, and the last rays of the sun glinted on 
the window-panes, seeming to draw sparks from the 
huge decanter in its ruby coloring, which stood on a 
side-table in juxtaposition to a box of choice cigars. 

Hicks had first taken an hour’s stroll about the 
grounds, and spoke with genuine admiration of 
their mingled beauties of art and nature. He was 
now lazily enjoying the aroma of a Reina Victoria. 
Sampson was pouring a generous bumper into the 
glasses while telling the tidy man-servant where to 
place a dish of oranges and lemons that had just 
been brought into the room. The detective gazed 
about him in complete enjoyment of the luxurious 
furnishings, the tapestry and marvelous shirring of 
pale-blue silk and satin that only partialy hid the 
folding-doors, by the opening of which the two par- 
lors could be thrown into one. Velvet plush was to 
be seen in such gorgeous profusion, and the panellings 
in Romanesque were of such exquisite coloring, that 
the eye soon tired of the splendor, and sought relief 
by looking out of the hexagonal window upon a scene 
more sombre. March winds had swept into utter 
bleakness the deciduous trees and plants, and only 
the evergreens stood, like solitary sentinels, in the 
background, beyond the hedges of box and arbor 
vita. April showers had not yet sufficiently 
drenched the soil to give tone to the incipient veg- 
etation, but the third month of spring was near at 
hand, and soon there would be an awakening of 


FINDING THE MONEV. 1 35 

nature. The season was late, but the odor of sum- 
mer was in the air. Some straggling roots on the 
ground gave evidence that clematis and wistaria 
might be lying dormant, waiting for the spring’s 
sun to rouse them into active life, when they would 
climb the picturesque trellis that stood at the end of 
the veranda. 

After arranging the Burgundy, and vulgarly run- 
ning his hand through the shock of stiff black hair 
that rose in Pompadour style from his low forehead, 
Sampson had taken rest in a fauteuil close to the 
bright coal fire whose gleam grew larger every mo- 
ment as the shades of coming night fell. The in- 
creasing blaze was reflected upon the brass fenders, 
with their heads carved in leonine features. The 
host stared quietly at his guest, who half reclined in 
complete abandon , as if in attempt to fathom the man’s 
musings, and unwilling, perhaps, to break the silence 
that had followed their lengthened chat. Presently 
he reached over to the silver gong on the mosaic-laid 
table, and tapped it smartly. 

“Lights, William,” was his order, as the func- 
tionary appeared promptly, and a moment later the 
servant re-entered bearing a glowing taper and ig- 
nited the brilliant candelabra with their imitation 
candle-tips, dropped the silken hangings from their 
gilt catches at the windows, dallied about the buffet 
for a moment, and quietly withdrew with an obse- 
quious bow. 

“This is cheerful!” said Hicks, his voice shatter- 
ing the monotonous stillness, as he looked up at the 
flashing gas-jets which cast their refulgence over the 
room. 


1 3 6 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


“Yes, rather better than a night’s lodging in the 
station-house,” replied the other, indulging in a 
coarse laugh. Now that the ice was broken, he plied 
his guest with ceaseless questionings of the events 
attending their particularly unpleasant experience, 
most of which he affected to forget. The detective 
only gave ambiguous or inexplicit answers, in mon- 
osyllabic responses, and the conversation gradually 
turned to other subjects, but principally to the dis- 
cussion of horses, the record of noted trotters and 
pacers, and the general excellences of the noble 
animal, for which the host had a great liking. It' 
was his hobby. His most judicious expenditures 
had been made in the purchase of first-class stock, 
and he expatiated upon their physical worth and 
beauty, and financial value with considerable en- 
thusiasm. His listener was not able to add his 
quota of converse, for he knew but little about 
equine matters. The other man was perhaps just 
as well satisfied, for he returned to the attack with 
fresh impetus. Hicks was apparently so candid — 
why should he not give the information desired? 

“Did I tell you anything special?” was a query 
he put, as he shot a huge volume of smoke from his 
mouth, watching it break into rings as if that was 
the only matter of earthly interest to him. “ Won’t 
you try some of this brandy? It’s a tip-top article,” 
shoving the red jar of cut glass toward his guest 
without waiting for an answer. 

“ No, thank you,” and Hicks stirred slightly as he 
declined with a wave of his hand. 

“ P’r’aps you drink wine (with a motion toward the 
gong)? I b’lieve I’ve every ’kind.” 


FINDING THE MONEY. 137 

“Don't trouble yourself, please. I very seldom 
touch liquor of any sort.” 

“You ‘touched’ it pretty heavily that night, eh?” 
responded the other with a grin. 

“Yes, possibly, but I’m not a steady drinker. One 
good round, occasionally, does for me.” 

All this was perfectly natural. Every physician 
is cognizant of the fact that there are men who seem 
fated by some inherited faculty to indulge in period- 
ical sprees, and Sampson, though he drank more or 
less almost daily, was a victim to this peculiar trait — 
hereditary or inspired — and knew it well. Still, the 
refusal was a disappointment to him, for alcoholic 
stimulants loosen the tongue, and he depended upon 
some such auxiliary in helping him to discover cer- 
tain facts that he badly wanted to know. Concealing 
this feeling with as much courtesy as he was able to 
display, he seized the decanter in an off-hand man- 
ner, poured out a “ pony” glassful, and with an at- 
tempted pleasant “ Here’s to yer, ” sipped the contents 
slowly. 

“ ’Bout the other matter. Was I very confiden- 
tial that night?” 

“Oh, no. You didn’t tell me anything of conse- 
quence. What had you to tell?” 

Sampson involuntarily started. Was he not mak- 
ing a mistake by asking these questions — placing 
the conversation on a basis of a series of interroga- 
tories? He was obliged to gulp before he could 
speak. 

“ Nawthing, of course. But a feller will sometimes 
make out he knows more than he did. I knew a 
chap once that would lie like the dickens when ” 


138 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

“Yon said,” interrupted the other, as if in sudden 
remembrance, “you were a peddler at one time, I 
believe.” 

“Did I say that ? Sa-ay, that reminds me,” ex- 
citedly exclaimed Sampson, and forgetful of his for- 
mer caution, he blurted out rather roughly: “I was 
pretty drunk; but I remember you jumped away 
from a house somewhere as if it was haunted.” 

“ Yes, I’ve always hated to pass by that place” — a 
remark that was true ; for, without having a trace of 
superstitious belief, the detective had always con- 
ceived a violent dislike to the scene of any tragedy. 

“ It’s never been rented since Catherwood was killed 
there. Gave it a bad name, of course.” 

He was looking steadily into the other man’s eyes as 
he spoke, and his own had that steely glitter that had 
been noted of him before. He distinctly saw a flicker 
in those of Sampson. More than that, there was ab- 
ject fear pictured in their depths. The hand that 
held the glass of brandy, almost then at his lips, 
shook, and the liquor was put down hastily on the 
table. Some second thought came to him a moment 
later, for he raised the tiny goblet and drained the 
contents in a single swallow. 

“ How’d you know Catherwood?” stuttered the con- 
fused man, for he had half-choked himself. “You 
seem to think a lot of him.” 

“ He kept a grocery here.” Sampson had not de- 
nied ignorance of the name, and he would assume the 
two were acquainted. “ I mean in New York City — 
just before he went to California. I know the whole 
family, and I’ve always thought it was a sad event to 
have him taken off that way, just when he was in the 


FINDING THE MONEY. 


139 


height of prosperity. Strange, too, that so much of 
his money disappeared at the time. You heard about 
it, I suppose.” 

Hicks had adapted his language to suit the ready 
comprehension of the other. But Hartley Sampson, 
not only understood fully what was said, but also 
some of what was implied, as he thought ; and he be- 
gan to evince a very unpleasant disposition. 

“Yes, I read it in the papers,” he replied surlily; 
“ but it was nothing to me.” 

With but little mental power, the owner of the 
mansion had recognized with animal instinct that 
there was some danger in this new acquaintance of 
his. With dumb sagacity he had, after pondering 
some days, thought it best “to have it out at once,” 
if there was anything inimical to his interests. It 
was a piece of diplomacy his best friend would never 
have given him credit for possessing; but he had 
come to the hard conclusion that it was judicious for 
him to make Hicks “show his hand.” It might be 
all aces, or only harmless seven-spots. He had 
never been able to dispossess himself, when sober, 
of that strange sensation of suspicion he had con- 
ceived from the moment he first met the soi-disant 
chemist. Appearances ought to indicate that the 
man was inclined to be his warm friend; but he 
couldn’t shake off the lurking impression that he 
was, instead, a tireless enemy. 

“ Why should I care anything ’bout Catherwood?” 
he asked angrily. “It looks as ef you’re always 
harping on him.” 

“My dear sir,” responded the detective suavely, 
as he moved forward to an upright position in his 


140 the catherwood mystery, 

chair, secretly delighted, but with a look of slight 
amazement, caused apparently by this breach of hos- 
pitality in having the host enter into an angry dis- 
cussion with him — but, unfortunately, forgetful him- 
self not to refrain from a style of speech, superior 
to what he had been using — “ if you will take the 
trouble to think, you will remember that you intro- 
duced the subject. I am perfectly willing to con- 
fess, though, that it has always been a matter of 
deep speculation to me. There were three people, 
connected with the murder who were classed as sus- 
picious characters, or, more properly, suspects,” he 
continued, quiet in manner but very watchful. 

Sampson hitched about uneasily on the sofa. The 
red spots in his eyes were dilating. 

“The woman we know is innocent; but [the two 
men, one of them a peddler ” 

The red-faced man had risen during this last 
speech, ostensibly to secure a match from the safe 
on the mantel to relight the half-consumed cigar he 
held in his hand ; but, as he passed partly back of his 
guest, he suddenly wheeled half-around and gripped 
the detective’s neck while he thundered out in mad- 
dened tones : “ Say, who are you , anyhow t What do 
yer mean by ‘ we know 7 Who is ‘ we 7 I b’lieve 
you’re a spy. What is it you want? — d — n yer!” 

With each succeeding question he had tightened 
his clasp, and Hicks, though not taken wholly un- 
awares, was half-choked as he struggled to free him- 
self from the rough hand of the burly fellow. Half- 
standing, he suddenly butted his head into the 
stomach of the fiery assailant, knocking him almost 
breathless to the floor, where the detective pinned 


FINDING THE MONEY. 


141 

him down with his knee after there had been one 
mad roll together on the soft carpet. He rested full 
upon the fallen man’s breast, clasping in a vice-like 
grip the wrists of the struggling, infuriated host. 

“ I want you ! Hartley Sampson, gentleman and 
peddler, and murderer of Jabez Catherwood! Just 
a moment, please,” and there was a delicious satire 
in the polite request as the click of the handcuffs 
bound the two arms together. “ Now, get up, you 
hound!” 

Hicks was angry, for his neck was sore and aching, 
and he had difficulty in catching his breath. Samp- 
son was possessed of great brute strength, and he had 
made a heavy plunge at the detective. But the lat- 
ter was wiry, his muscles were trained, and he proved 
to be more than a match for his antagonist. The 
other, at this bidding, rose to his feet slowly and 
awkwardly, as a man would do deprived of the use 
of his hands. 

“ Sit down in that chair ! ” was the command hurled 
at him, and he fell over into the rocker, assisted by 
a slight push from the visitor at the house. “I’ve 
treated you already better than you deserve ; but if 
at any time you make a movement to escape I’ll shoot 
you with as little compunction as if you were a mad 
dog. Do you hear ? ” 

He probably did so, and he certainly could see a 
seven-barreled revolver pointed directly at him. 

“ Now, make a clean breast of it. I am a detec- 
tive, and I have the proper authority to arrest you. 
Did you kill Catherwood ? ” 

“No, I didn’t,” muttered the other. The agony 
was past. He was relieved to know just what this 


42 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


man was to him. He might have stopped to hate 
him, did he not see before him the possibility of the 
hangman’s noose. “ I always suspicioned you ; but I 
ain’t afeered to tell the truth. It’s Catherwood’s 
money I’m spending; but I never harmed a hair of 
his head.” 

“Tell me all about it, then. I’m willing to be- 
lieve anything reasonable. ” 

The slight wrestling on the floor had not disturbed, 
any of the furniture with the exception of a turned 
over ottoman, and there in silence, broken only by 
their heavy breathing, the two men confronted each 
other, the detective with blazing eyes and the shin- 
ing tube held firmly in his hand, the ex-gentleman, 
sullen and defiant, struggling with the mixed rage 
of his defeat and a fear of his opponent. This ath- 
letic Hicks had a grip like the hug of a boa-constric- 
tor, and his head was as hard as a cannon-ball. 

“ I always thought it might come out on me,” said 
Sampson in sheer desperation, “and I knew it looked 
bad, so I’d rather have it cleared up. Never thought 
any one would hold me fer the murder, though — the 
stealing’s bad enough. I ought ter stayed in foreign 
parts; but I couldn’t speak their lingo, and it made 
me so cussed homesick,” with a faint weakness in 
his voice indicative of the honest sentiment that did 
the man credit. 

“Go on,” sententiously remarked the other. 

“Well, I only knew Catherwood here by sight. 
He was a man when I was a youngster, but I ran 
away, and after going all over the country I landed 
in ’Frisco. Sometimes I was flush, for I played 
cards, and agin I was dead broke. Was doing odd 


FINDING THE MONEY. 


*4 3 


jobs there when I ran across him. He was awful 
hard up, and when he boned me for a loan I let him 
have some cash, for I couldn’t refuse any one. I saw 
him two or three times afterward, but he was still on 
his uppers. He left town suddenly, went to Nevady, 
I heard, and I didn’t git my loan back. Next I 
heard he was up in Oregon, but I never set eyes on 
him agin till I had found my way back to New York 
and ran across him coming out of a hotel dressed up 
fine. He was all right, though, for as soon as I 
tackled him for the spondulicks he said, ‘Of course,’ 
handed me out a couple of hundred, told me he could 
never forgit my kindness, asked me to call and see 
him that evening, and said he would give me a lift. 
I never felt so cheered up in my life. Well, I went 
there with my pack — couldn’t drop it any place, you 
know — and told the girl I would go right up to his 
room. When I pushed open the door there he was, 
lying like a stuck pig. I took it in right off, and the 
devil prompted me to go through his pockets. I 
knew he was going to give me more, for he was 
grateful, and I thought I’d only be helping myself 
to a part of my own. There was a big, fat wallet in 
his inside coat pocket, a lot of drafts in paper en- 
velopes, which I tore up, and a small box of dia- 
monds. It was a big haul, but I didn’t stop to count 
it, you bet. I’ve got half a million out of it, and it 
ain’t all gone by a jugful. His satchel was there, 
but I was afeared to touch that, and so I skipped. I 
hadn’t orter done it, I know. I’ve told you the God’s 
truth. You may haul me up for stealing, but I 
never killed no man yit.” 

vSampson’s language was a queer conglomeration of 


144 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


the localisms of his native section with city slang 
and rude Western speech. Hicks listened to it with 
something of the curiosity of a philologist. 

“ Very well. I am inclined to have faith in your 
story, if you did try to kill me a few minutes ago.” 

“ No, I didn’t, pard,” and he held out his manacled 
hands beseechingly, as if craving mercy. “ Don’t 
say that! Of course I was mad, and I’ve an awful 
temper when it gits up. ” 

“Never mind,” said the other good-naturedly. 
“You will go down to the city with me quietly. I 
have the right to take you along, as I told you. If 
you will promise not to make any attempt to escape, 
I will relieve you of those bracelets,” as he signified 
with grim humor the rings holding Sampson’s wrists. 
“ You don’t want the people about here to see you hu- 
miliated and have a chance to gloat over your down- 
fall. They will hear enough of it, later. Do you 
promise?” 

“ I do,” and he shook his head violently in affirma- 
tion. “I’ll keep as quiet as a mouse.” 

“All right, then; it’s the better for you. I’ll see 
how we can fix it. Your story is a plausible one, 
but appearances are against you.” 

“ You’ll make it easy for me, won’t you, pard?” 
said the other imploringly. 

“ I’ll do the best I can for you. There,” as he un- 
locked the handcuffs, “ I do that because you prom- 
ised. Remember! Don’t attempt to fool me. Get 
up and march out of that door. Wait! Here’s your 
hat and overcoat,” reaching for the articles from the 
rack as they passed into the large front hall. “ Take 
your umbrella, too. Your servants will think we’r§ 


FINDING THE MONEY. 145 

making a trip to New York. You go off when you 
please, don’t you?” 

“ That’s all right. They know I’m likely to drop 
out at an)’- time without saying a word.” 

“ Then go. If you try to run I’ll shoot. You un- 
derstand? ” And any one passing those two would 
have thought they were journeying together in 
friendly companionship. There was a dazzling ra- 
diance of lamplight upon them as they walked down 
the avenue, and a few steps more in the semi-dark- 
ness brought them to the street leading directly to 
the depot. Not till then did Hicks return to his hip- 
pocket the little messenger of death he had carried 
in his hand, though he had no intention of executing 
his threat unless his life had been in danger. If 
Sampson had proved unruly, the detective would 
have shot into the air to summon assistance. 

At the very moment they reached the railroad plat- 
form, Mrs. Catherwood was musing over the details 
of her daughter’s marriage. 

10 




I 


CHAPTER XV. 


PARTICEPS CRIMINIS. 

The head of the detective bureau had just opened 
a window of the office, for though May had not come 
a great change had taken place in the local atmos- 
pheric conditions within the past day, and the Gulf 
Stream, in its ever-oscillating course, had given a 
sudden lurch toward the Jersey coast, spreading its 
influence along the shores of Staten Island, and in 
consequence the temperature had risen thirty de- 
grees since the morning before. It was a balmy 
wind that came freighted with salty freshness, though 
slightly tinctured with the dust and smoke of down- 
town. He had little time to enjoy this vernal breeze 
before he heard the turning of the door-knob, and 
two men entered, travel-stained and weary, one of 
whom sat down obediently in response to a quick 
gesture of command from the other. 

“Ah, Hicks! is it you? What a fine morning!” 

“Yes, sir, charming. And I bring you news as 
good as the weather. That’s the peddler I’ve been 
hunting during the past six years,” indicating the 
other occupant of the room with a disdainful nod of 
his head. 

“Whew!” vulgarly ejaculated the chief, compre- 
hending instantly what he had always lovingly called 
the “statoo quo,” and properly adjusting his eye- 
glasses to bestow a searching glance upon Sampson’s 
146 


PARTICEPS CRIMINIS. 


147 


face and figure. Take a man or a woman with a 
knowledge of some few words in a language other than 
their own, and it is remarkable with what persistent 
fatuity they incorporate them into every sentence pos- 
sible, frequently where their use is ambiguous, seldom 
relevant, and nearly as often wholly wrong. It is 
not pedantry — it is idiocy. And the cheerful ex- 
pression they assume when rolling this sweet lin- 
guistic morsel on the tongue only increases the de- 
pravity of their action and adds insult to the injury 
done one's feelings. It was a weakness of this offi- 
cial, and the pronunciation of his Latin, following 
not one of the three accepted forms, was as faulty as 
the set of his vest and the color of his cravat. It 
was all a combined offence against the eye and ear. 

“What success you do have!” he continued admir- 
ingly, and yet with a faint suggestion of jealousy in 
his voice. “ How the devil did you get him — ‘the 
derelict, ’ I call him?” and there was a beaming smile 
on his face to add to the picturesqueness of his words. 

Then, as they sat with closely-drawn chairs, the 
detective narrated in low tones that did not reach 
the prisoner’s hearing (for Hicks made it a religious 
duty never to offend a man’s sensibilities) the inci- 
dents of the preceding day leading up to the arrest. 
There had been a collision on the road near Garri- 
son’s, and they had been detained at a small country 
station, not being able to come down till a morning 
train. 

“ I think he’s told me the truth, chief. He must be 
tried for stealing, and he expects that, although I 
don’t know what the law will think of the robbery 
of a corpse. I believe it’s an open question whether 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


robbery from the person is so regarded if unaccom- 
panied by violence. Larceny of some kind, I should 
imagine. He oughtn’t to have more than a light 
sentence, as the fellow has some good points” (“ and 
a tough hand, ” was his mental addendum as he rubbed 
his neck). 

“ I don’t see how it can be done.” 

“ Sampson confesses to purloining the money. Put 
him on trial for that. ” 

“ But the prosecuting attorney may demand an in- 
vestigation of his connection with the murder.” 

“ Stave him off, then. There is a third one in the 
case. ” 

“Yes, I remember. The man with the set face.” 

“And I know him.” 

“You do?” exclaimed the other in amazement. 
“You’re a wonderful man, Hicks.” 

The detective hardly acknowledged the compli- 
ment, shrugging his shoulders as if in part denial. 
“ Yes, I can put my hand on him. He is high game, 
too; and though he must explain some things — for 
it looks as if he was seriously involved — I have doubts 
of his guilt.” 

“ Well, who in the dickens is the guilty one?” asked 
the other testily. “ Three suspected parties, and all 
of them as innocent as babes! Who is the guilty 
one?” 

“ I don’t know, yet,” replied Hicks sadly. “ It’s a 
queer affair, and I’m nonplussed perhaps. It may 
turn out to be the second man; I’m sure it isn’t this 
one. ” 

“ I don’t like the idea of any attempt to shield this 
fellow, ft looks too much like covering his crime.” 


PARTICEPS CRIMINlS. 


149 


“I’ll take the responsibility,” and the detective 
spoke wearily. He was tired bodily, and he wanted 
to get away to his rooms, where he could give the 
subject more thought; for he was sorely perplexed. 

“ What’s your idea of not having him stand trial, 
any way?” queried the official. 

“ Because I don’t want to make a blunder in trying 
to convict a man when I haven’t the proof.” 

“ Ah, yes,” chuckled the man with little hair on his 
head, “you want to keep clear of a faux pas." He 
pronounced the first word as if it was spelled fowx, 
and the ample smile once more played on his round, 
rosy face; for he rejoiced at the opportunity given 
him to use so appositely a bit of French. 

“You didn’t make any objection in the case of the 
Wagner woman — couldn’t, of course, as she was 
dead” — seeing the chief’s mouth form a leering grin ; 
“but you believed in that confession, just as I did 
then, and as I do now in this man’s. He really has 
excellent characteristics, for he tried very hard to 
raise himself in the social scale, and it’s my opinion 
that a man with an honest ambition like that, weak 
as it may seem to a majority of people, must have a 
good purpose at heart. He has been charitable and 
generous, too, in an unostentatious manner. For 
an uneducated rough with boorish instincts he has 
done wonderfully well. Nearly all the money will 
be recovered. His country-seat has nearly doubled 
in value. I’m opposed to inflicting severe punish- 
ment upon him for yielding to a temptation that 
might have entrapped us, good as we are, ” and the 
senior chuckled again with delight. 

The detective’s reasoning was too logical for the 


150 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

other man, who could not but understand that this 
subordinate was greatly his intellectual superior; 
but his sense of humanity was stirred by the last ap- 
peal. 

“I’ll talk the matter over with the district attorney. 
But a man that steals will do worse. ” 

“ I don’t believe in any such theory. It will do for 
Sunday-school literature, but you know very well 
that because Mrs. Blank is arrested for kleptomania 
no one would assume that she is just as liable to kill 
the store -keeper. She may have been addicted to 
the opium habit, or she may have been suffering from 
neuralgia. Many an inveterate liar is the soberest 
man in the community, and a temperance advocate 
has been known to embezzle. Occasionally, you 
will find a monster who is capable of committing 
any and all crimes; but I’m heartily tired of namby- 
pamby suppositions and popular fallacies, sustained 
principally by people born without brains, and who 
are only capable of repeating with parrot volubility 
the maxims drilled into them in childhood’s days — 
stale and unfounded beliefs of their grand-parents. 
There isn’t a sign of remorse about Sampson. He’s 
moderately sorry, of course; and there isn’t a jury to 
be found so foolish as to stigmatize him as a hardened 
criminal, because he neither looks nor acts it. If 
this man is to be tried for the murder, my hands will 
be tied and my progress toward a true solution seri- 
ously hindered. ” 

Hicks had raised his voice in his earnestness, 
and that the arrested man had heard some of his 
speech he knew, for there was a reflection of grati- 
tude in the eyes of Sampson. 


PARTICEPS CRIMINIS. 


ISI 

“ I must be going. You will see to the commit- 
ment of the prisoner?” and the detective rose and 
passed across the room, touching the call-bell, and 
slowly turned to the doorway. An assistant entered 
at that moment. 

“Yes. I’ll talk the matter over, as I said,” reiter- 
ated the chief, who was greatly amused at this out- 
burst of feeling from the detective, and was really 
deeply impressed by this disrupting of the common- 
place ideas of people of ordinary mental power. 

He fulfilled his promise to Hicks, however, with 
such effect that Sampson was placed on trial for theft 
only, and principally on his own confession. He was 
given the mild sentence of five years in the peniten- 
tiary. The defendant in law proved by witnesses 
that he was away from home that evening not more 
than an hour ; that he had mentioned his engagement 
with Catherwood ; that he returned with no visible 
sign of confusion about him, and the State was un- 
able to find any apparent cause for a quarrel. The 
knife found in the corpse was Catherwood’s own 
property, proving conclusively that the murderer, 
if there was one, could not have entered the room 
with a fell purpose— in legal phraseology “ with dire 
intent ” — or he would have used some weapon of his 
own. The opinion was generally expressed that 
Catherwood’s death was, after all, a suicide. 

For some days the press comments were loud in 
protest against what they proclaimed were irregular 
court proceedings, and public interest was re-awak- 
ened in the old-time cause cittbre. Some reporters 
thought they had been deprived of an exciting mor- 
sel of news by not seeing Sampson arraigned for 


I52 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

murder. Complete restitution was made by the con- 
demned man. Some uncut diamonds were returned, 
with a bank-book and the entire reversal of the coun- 
try-seat, which was immediately sold at an advance 
of about eighty per cent, on its original cost. The 
“ didn’t I tell you so” of the gossips of Poughkeepsie 
was repeated with great gusto by the offended farm- 
ers, who had always thought — at least, they now 
said so — that there was something “ crooked” about 
young Sampson, and who were elated at his down- 
fall and subsequent punishment. As a class, they felt 
that they were avenged. After one delicious shud- 
der of pleasure on the part of the aristocratic ele- 
ment, that they had never countenanced this speci- 
men of the “new rich,” life resumed its normal sway 
in the bustling town. 

Again was Mrs. Harrod annoyed by a series of 
visits from detective Hicks and other officials while 
the process of transferring the recovered property to 
her was undergoing court supervision. There was 
not a trace of satisfaction on her part at the acquisi- 
tion of this large sum additional to the princely fort- 
une she now held, and she had at first declined to 
receive it upon any pretext whatever, until her hus- 
band pointed out the obvious fact that there could 
not be any other disposition of it. But she petu- 
lantly told him that, to her, it appeared stained with 
the contact of that dreadful man, Sampson, and that 
she would really never take possession of it. 

“ If you do not think the money too unworthy — for 
in itself it is guiltless — devote it to some charity, 
then,” he had remarked kindly; and she had replied 
that she would “ weigh the suggestion. ” 


PARTICEPS CRIMINIS. 


153 


At her last interview with the detective, she in- 
sisted upon his acceptance of the $5,000, which she 
considered he had earned, and when he declined 
talcing- it, reiterated her request with added earnest- 
ness. 

“You have taken a great amount of trouble these 
past years, Mr. Hicks. If I may be allowed to say 
so,” and there was a gracious smile on her face, “you 
aptly unite the qualities of a Mercury with a Her- 
cules. I have heard the whole story of your bravery 
and ingenuity. In the prosecution of this matter, 
you have rightly earned this sum ; I insist upon your 
acceptance, ” and she placed a check for the amount 
designated in his unwilling hand. “ It all seems to 
me like blood-money,” she continued, with a slight 
quivering of her body, “ and I do hope the last chapter 
is closed. At least, I decline to have any more in- 
terest. Even if this man Sampson is guilty of the 
worse crime, if there was one, it will not please me to 
see him punished more. With no intent of offend- 
ing, I plainly tell you I trust never to see you ag&in, ” 
and there was a weakening to the tones of the voice 
and a melancholy droop of the features as she spoke. 
“ The assassin is probably dead. There can be noth- 
ing more learned of it — is it not so?” and there was, 
additionally, a craving inquiry in her eyes. 

“ I do not know, madam, ” he replied, courteously. 
“ Daniel Webster said that murder” (again there was a 
slight quiver passing over her) “ ‘would out, ’ but there 
have been many exceptions to the truth of his state- 
ment, I fear. I assure you,” and his eyes looked 
piercingly into hers, “ I shall not intrude again un- 
less it is absolutely necessary. The case has been 


154 THE catherwood mystery. 

one of long standing, and I do not blame you for 
your feeling of repugnance, perhaps, toward any 
reference to the unhappy affair and dissatisfaction 
at the delay circumstances have imposed upon us. 
Rut there is another man yet to be found.” 

“ You do not mean to say that you will try to find 
that other man and arrest him?” Mrs. Harrod al- 
most gasped. She understood the detective’s allu- 
sion, and her soul was up in arms against this “ per- 
secution, ” as she would have called it. “ It is possible, 
Mr. Hicks, that you may make a serious mistake in 
your search — accuse some man of such irreproach- 
able character that the perfect insanity of your charge 
will redound upon your own head, greatly to your 
discredit.” 

She intended to warn him. He might understand 
her plainly or not, as he pleased. She did not care 
for that. If her husband was to be hounded by this 
man, who possibly had been engaged for years in 
accumulating supposed evidence against him, the 
detective should be made to know that there was a 
great probability of his bringing shame and confu- 
sion upon himself while trying to destroy the repu- 
tation of another. 

“ I am aware of all the difficulties with which I 
may have to contend, madam, and it is my purpose 
to act with proper discretion,” he said, rising and 
bowing deferentially as he stepped backward through 
the parlor doorway. “ I have the honor to bid you 
good day. ” 

“ How tired I am — how tired of it all ! Am I to 
be worried all my life with these horrible details? 
And to think he is now lurking about and trying 


PARTICEPS CRIMINIS. 


*55 


to weave his web of shame about my John! Oh, 
dear!” and she dropped down on the sofa, half-bury- 
ing her face in the cushions as the tears welled from 
her eyes. But the sound of a quick, short step in the 
hall roused her, and she sprang hastily to her feet, 
throwing herself into the arms of her husband as he 
entered the room in search of his loved wife. 

“ I am so worn out, ” she wailed. “ Promise me you 
will go to Europe as soon as Helen is married. Take 
me away, where I may never hear of Jabez Cather- 
wood, his money, and his death. I’m so sick of it 
all.” 

But he did not know the agonizing fear this dear 
woman had lest //^should be implicated — the possible 
contamination of accusation followed by arrest for a 
murder. 

“I understand, Marie,” he said, as he patted her 
on the shoulder and caressed her into quietness. 
“ I’ve always contemplated making this trip, but we 
will go sooner than I intended and give you relief 
from the disagreeable conditions of the present. I 
saw Hicks going down the street, supposed he had 
been here, and I was sure you must be unduly ex- 
cited again. Don’t cry, ” and he brushed away a tear 
that was falling over the velvet sheen of her cheek. 
“ Cheer up. Your health demands a change, I know. 
Will September do?” 

“Yes, John,” and she raised a face beaming with 
love and full content to his look. “ You are so good 
to me, my husband,” and the arms clasped him 
tightly as she again lifted her face, warm and flushed, 
for the kiss that was never refused. 

“ I shall be so glad to have you all to myself, and 


156 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

it will be such a happy relief,” she ended with a 
long-drawn sigh, that told him more than all else 
how she was suffering. He protected her now, but 
she would shield him in the future, weak woman as 
she was. If money would purchase the silence or 
inaction of that dreadful Hicks, she would give him 
a sum of money that must seem a fortune to a man 
who was only the recipient of a weekly salary. If 
he was not to be bought, though she had faith in 
Walpole’s maxim, she would crush him with the 
power of wealth and influence. When she had her 
husband away, conditions might change. That 
sneaking detective might die, and the whole affair 
would be sunk into oblivion. Present safety de- 
manded her husband’s absence from home. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


DOMESTIC BLISS. 

Miss Helen Catherwood was united in marriage 
to Mr. Edwin R. Austin, at St. George’s Church, 
Stuyvesant Square. The ceremony had been a so- 
cial event, even if all the world was out of town, in 
the hot, humid month of August. Less than a 
month later, the names of Mr. and Mrs. John C. 
Harrod were among the list of a Cunard steamer’s 
passengers for Europe. The newly made bride had, 
with a strange persistency and perversity, selected 
the 17th inst. — she regretted that it had not been in 
June — for the consummation of the nuptial union, 
despite the protestations of her mother and her fianct. 
But no: she considered it a memorable day, and 
wished to have an additional reminder of what she 
now considered to be a religious duty — the discovery 
of her father’s murderer. Midst the bustle of the 
marriage preparations, surrounded by the fussiness 
of helping friends, in the joyousness of receiving 
congratulations, and the happy hours passed in the 
inspection with ever-renewed delight of the numer- 
ous and costly wedding-presents (the cant phrase 
being an expression of the reality in this instance), 
the novelty of a new life so completely absorbed her 
time that she actually forgot her vow of vengeance, 
and the half-conceived scheme fell into desuetude. 

Then the wedding trip, which extended from 
i57 


158 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

Niagara Falls to Nahant, and followed the line of 
the triangle to Norfolk — alliterative in. name, but 
varied in scenery and clime — was a three months’ 
dream of delirious joy and rapturous experience. It 
was only when she was finally domiciled at her new 
home, on West Fifty-second Street, that her thoughts 
had time to revert to the one great ambition of her 
life — the uncovering of that mysterious secret. 

“ I could make that man suffer the pangs of Pro- 
metheus or condemn him to the useless toil of a Sisy- 
phus,” she had' with affectation of classical learning, 
said to her husband one winter’s evening when they 
sat enjoying true home-life, her fingers plying the 
busy needle on a bit of fancy tatting, his slippered 
feet resting upon the edge of the various colored tiles 
of the fire-place as he carelessly perused the pages 
of a magazine. An ivory paper-cutter was lying in 
his lap. 

“Which man, Nellie?” and he carefully separated 
the white intersection of the article he was reading. 

“Why, that man, of course.” 

“ Yes : that reminds me of La Fille de Madame Angot. 

‘ What he?’ ‘Why, him-he. ’ ” 

“ Pshaw ! The man that killed poor dear papa, 
I mean. How I wish I could find him ! ” 

“ It’s a very old story, my dear, and possesses an 
element of staleness. I should think you would pre- 
fer to lock up the skeleton in the closet, instead of 
giving him such a constant airing;” for, in truth, he 
was quite tired of her frequent reference to the sub- 
ject, and it had become very hackneyed to him 
months before. Catherwood paterfamilias was dead, 
and the doctor wasn’t quite sure but that he was 


DOMESTIC BLISS. 


r 59 


grateful for present conditions; for, from the little 
trifling incidents he had heard related of the defunct, 
the old fellow could not have been a very picturesque 
addition to their social circle, and might have been 
more fantastic than would have been desired. “ Good 
enough, perhaps, in his way,” mused the physician, 
but then it was just as satisfactory to have him out 
of the way. And his mother-in-law, too — for whom 
he had the greatest respect, however — was three thou- 
sand miles or more remote. Indeed, it was all a very 
congenial arrangement, and he couldn’t refrain from 
thinking that, partly owing to these reasons, he was 
an especially happy man. 

“ But you can not feel as I do, ” she protested. 

“ No, I should hope not. My interests are in keep- 
ing people alive and not in hunting for cadavers.” 

“ Cadavers ! What a horrid word ! What do you 
mean by it?” 

“Oh, nothing, Nellie; only that I’m not engaged 
in a vendetta, or have any special craving for re- 
venge. ” 

“ But you never lost your papa in the terrible way 
I did.” 

“ Very true, dear. Did you notice that article on 
solar physics in this month’s issue?” waving the 
magazine at her. He knew well enough she had 
not even seen the current number till half an hour 
before, but he was anxious to change the topic of 
conversation. 

“ No, I’m only interested in the revenge business,” 
she replied with sulky satire. “ But, Edwin, don’t 
you think it will ever be known who did that horri- 
ble thing?” 


i6o 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


“Can’t say, Nellie,” he muttered, trying not to 
lose his mental connection with the page before him. 
It was satiety to him, and he heartily wished, with 
all due deference for his wife’s feelings, she would 
stop or change the discourse: 

“ How I wish I had the box of Pandora to pour 
open upon the villain’s head! I wouldn’t even 
leave hope behind for him. ” 

This was dreadful ! He must make an effort in 
his own defence. 

“ Did Lillie bring or send those gloves to-day?” 
he inquired irrelevantly. 

“ What gloves?” testily. 

“ She had a half-dozen pair of Chanut’s make that 
were too small for her, and she told me she was go- 
ing to present them to you. Real compliment, too. 
Too small for her ! ” 

“What a good, kind girl your sister is,” said the 
young wife, in a mollified tone, bending over to 
imprint a light kiss upon her husband’s forehead. 
“Your family’s very nice, but you’re the nicest,” 
and she rose and settled herself down in her hus- 
band’s lap with one arm thrown lovingly about his 
neck. “ There, let solar physics go to-night,” taking 
the magazine from his hand and placing it on the 
table, while the paper-knife fell to the floor unheeded 
by them both. “ Tell me everything you did to-day. ” 

“On one condition, Nellie.” 

“What is it?” 

“ That I am not to hear another word about this — 
this tragedy you harp on so; and you will please 
discard all mythological references.” 

“ I promise; but I must tell you one thing.” 


DOMESTIC BLISS. 


161 

“Take care!” and he shook a finger with playful 
menace at her. 

“I remember; but I must tell you about the de- 
tective.” 

“ The detective?” 

“Yes, Detective Hicks. He’s the only one I’ve 
ever seen.” 

“ Where was he?” 

“ Here.” 

“ I do wish that men of that sort were kept out of 
this house ! It seems to me somewhat criminating 
to have the acquaintance of such people. A worth- 
less, lazy, whiskey-sipping crew,” and, pushing her 
aside, he rose to his feet and walked about the room 
for a turn or two in half-angry mood. “ I hate mys- 
tery and mysterious people,” he ejaculated harshly. 

“Don’t be vexed, darling,” and she stopped him 
by throwing her arms about his shoulders. “ I can’t 
help it if persons call here. Of course, I will refuse 
to see them if you insist upon it. He’s very much 
of a gentleman, I am sure. He asked about the 
health of mamma and Mr. Harrod” (there was a 
slight shade of reluctance in naming the last), “and 
he told me that he had accidentally noticed our ad- 
vertisement for a house-girl of refined, antecedents. 
You see he knew our residence. I said, ‘yes,’ and 
he replied that he could recommend an acquaintance, 
a very superior kind of young woman, who had be- 
come straitened in circumstances, and would gladly 
take a home with such a family as ours — people who 
could appreciate her services, he said. She didn’t 
want to be treated like a servant, although she would 
know her place. Of course, I told him he might 
ii 


162 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


send the girl here. I think it was real kind of him. 
I suppose even a detective’s reference can be ac- 
cepted in such a case,” and her voice was tinctured 
with mild sarcasm. 

“Perhaps it can; possibly it can’t,” was his dubi- 
ous response. “ I fail to see any reason why our do- 
mestic arrangements should be of any interest to 
him.” 

“And I must tell you,” she continued, unheeding 
his remark, “ that it is certainly very suspicious that 
he desires to obtain so much information about Mr. 
Harrod. I don’t understand it. I wanted to ask him 
point-blank, but his cold, fish-like eyes deterred me. 
Edwin, dear, sit down again. That’s a good boy,” 
and she gently pushed him back toward his easy- 
chair, into which he sank carelessly. “You won’t 
understand it, but I believe I have a mission in life. 
I don’t want to join the women reformers ” 

“ I do wish many of them would reform in several 
respects,” he interrupted. 

“ How can you libel our sex so? Aren’t you 
ashamed to talk that way?” 

But he shook his head negatively. 

“I’ll forgive you this time, but don’t repeat the 
offence. As I was saying, I’m not interested in fe- 
male suffrage, but I do not wish to be simply a soci- 
ety woman — 

f To eat the lotus of the Nile, 

And drink the poppies of Cathay. ’* 

I have higher aspirations.” 

“Study medicine, then, and become a female 


* Whittier. 


DOMESTIC BLISS. 


163 


physician,” he responded grimly. “Take a spec 
ialty, and make yourself an oculist or aurist. Think 
what a useful assistant you would be to me!” 

“I don’t think the suggestion so bad. It would 
be doing something. . Strange thoughts trouble me 
now. I feel like Diana” (and she was an ideal per- 
sonification as she stood there, her queenly figure 
crowned with the golden aureole of massive braids 
of shining hair, and her eyes glistening with some 
new inspiration) , “ ready at times to deal out death 
and destruction among mankind. ” 

“But wouldn’t you suit me better as a Hebe?” he 
inquired, in a mild tone of irony. 

“No, as Ariadne. Why don’t you talk tome as 
Brutus did to his wife?” 

“ I think it, dear, all the time,” and his voice soft- 
ened as he looked up at her with lover’s eyes. 

“Yes, you big darling,” and she slipped down on 
her knees at his side. “I’m a bad girl to worry you 
with my cravings for revenge. You sha’n’t be 
troubled any more.” 

“Better not, Nellie, for in such a race you may 
prove to be another Atalanta,” punctuating the 
words by patting her cheeks. “ But you haven’t 
heard what I did to-day. ” 

“ No: what was it? Tell me all about it,” and she 
nestled closer to him with childish eagerness. 

“I saw all my patients, of course; but, in our 
cant expression, every one is distressingly healthy 
at present, and so I had plenty of time to go a-shop- 
ping.” 

“Shopping?” with an accent of extreme incre- 
dulity. 


164 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


“ Yes. I bought you a lovely pair of canaries with 
a beautiful cage, and a genuine Maltese kitten that 
is called ‘Topsy. ’ ” 

“You did? Oh, the dear little pets!” delighted 
that two of her heart’s desires had been granted. 
“ Where are they? ” 

“ The songsters are in the library, and the feline 
is in charge of the cook.” 

“And you didn’t tell me before!” with an air of 
deep reproach, simulated to cover her gladsome smile. 
“ But I must see them now.” 

“Let me tell you about the parrot,” he cried, as 
she jumped up and went dancing from the room, but 
his words were lost upon the empty air, and her hus- 
band, laughing, picked up the cutter, seized the 
monthly, and again opened its leaves, remembering 
that he had also promised her a spaniel, and that it 
should be called “ Coco.” 

“ Not half as wicked as she thinks she is,” was his 
murmured comment, as he resumed reading. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


AT THE SEA-SHORE. 

It was the last week of July, 1881. A nation was 
waiting in breathless anxiety to hear the daily bul- 
letin of the condition of a dying President. Hope 
rose and fell as the alternating announcements from 
the attending physicians were despatched throughout 
the land. . . . The season was at its height at 
Oak Bluffs, Martha’s Vineyard, and the steamboats 
from Wood’s Holl and New Bedford brought on their 
daily trips hundreds of excursionists in search of 
pleasure and health, and a few, still in remembrance 
of the original camp-meeting settlement, to praise God 
in his first temples — the virgin groves that the Bap- 
tists had occupied for daily religious devotions dur- 
ing their annual encampment for many years past. 
The greater portion, however, came to stay as long 
as the limits of their bank account or the depths of 
their purses allowed, for the enjoyment of that exist- 
ence known as recreation. The site was happily 
chosen. There was magnificent bathing. Drives 
of singular beauty led away from the concrete pave- 
ments to the hard sand of the interior of the island, 
where there was a profusion of foliage and shade, 
with lovely views of sea and land, and where were 
seen the rose-embowered mansions of the rich re- 
cluses who were content to live there all the year. 
165 


1 66 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


The liliputian railroad, running along the shore, 
skirting the point of Edgartown Harbor on to Kalta- 
ma — a never-failing source of merriment to the curi- 
osity-seeker — was now resounding with the noise of 
the train that had just pulled up beyond the line of 
bath-houses, and was emptying its freight of home- 
seeking passengers. Just beyond, the hard, white 
sand of the beach glittered in the bright light of day, 
and the few shells at the edge of the water were of 
purple and golden hues — prismatic tints that, alas! 
owed their coloring to the salt spray that dashed 
over them and reflected the sun’s rays; for let them 
but be taken away, and 

The poor, unsightly, noisome things 

Had left their beauty on the shore, 

With the sun and the sand, and the wild uproar,* 

There were also stones of snowy whiteness, some of 
them shaded to a delicate pearl that always retained 
their purity; and where the sea-weeds grew were 
strange rare plants and blooms that would have been 
exotic in the parlor vase. Almost directly west from 
the station, on a line across the boulevard and in- 
closed fields (known as the park), on the wide, heav- 
ily overarched piazza of a modest two-story and a 
half cottage, stood a fair woman in ndgligd costume — 
in the monstrosity then known as a Mother Hubbard 
— with bright ribbons and a brighter color in her 
cheeks, looking with anxious eyes at the crowd who 
were hurrying up to the sheltering pavilion, an im- 
itation of a Chinese pagoda, from whence they sped 
in all directions, the great bulk continuing up the 


* Emerson. 


AT THE SEA-SHORE. 


167 


plank walk toward the Sea View. Presently she 
gave a little exclamation of joy. Her face became 
wreathed in smiles, and, stepping up to the plump 
year-old cherub held by a rather good-looking and 
proportionately plump nurse, chucked it under the 
chin as the tiny hands grabbed at the blue sash float- 
ing from its mother’s shoulders. 

“ Papa’s coming, Harry darling! Aren’t you glad?” 
and, imagining the desired assent to her question in 
the tired nod that baby gave, turned with a still 
happier smile for that reason to the sturdy young 
man, in boating costume of a very fancy type and 
rich material, who was just then opening the garden 
gate, an entrance in front upon the middle brick 
walk. Even Topsy, grown large and fat, purred a 
welcome home. 

“Oh, Edwin, I’m so glad you’ve come! Why, 
how tanned you are, and what were you doing away 
over night?” 

His lips pressed full and strong upon hers, before 
he answered : “ Had a regular shipwreck near the 
Old Man Rocks.” 

“Shipwreck! Oh! you weren’t in danger,” she 
gasped in tremulous dismay, a trifle of that affecta- 
tion, from which no woman is entirely free, showing 
in her manner. 

“Yes, dear — nearly drowned. Got caught in a 
gale, and our boat was staved to pieces. Some of the 
Indians at Gay Plead helped us, and I made one of 
them row me over to the South Beach, and then I 
came up home by rail. But neither love nor money 
would induce any of them to make the trip last night. 
There was a regular hurricane, and the old salts said 


1 68 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


they wouldn’t tempt fate. Had to camp out, too. 
Some of the fellows like it so well they’re going to 
stay, but I knew you wanted me here.” 

“Yes, I did, dear,” throwing her arm about his 
head and giving it a loving pressure, for she had re- 
mained standing when he sank down wearily into a 
rocker. 

“And it blew ’great guns’ here, as I heard one of 
the steamboat men say this morning. I was terribly 
frightened at the wind, and I worried about you all 
night. Don’t go away on such a trip again, please.” 

“Not in a hurry,” responded the husband, smil- 
ingly. “ I think I want a week’s rest now.” 

“Why, where’s your watch?” noticing the absence 
of the gold chain that always hung across his breast. 

“ Lost it,” was his laconic reply. 

“What a pity! and it was such a beautiful one. 
Can’t it be found?” 

“ I’m afraid not. It sunk in about six fathoms of 
water. A spar caught in my blouse,” he explained 
“ and snatched the chain and watch away. I know 
just about where it is. Some of those chaps down 
there are good divers, and I offered $100 for its re- 
covery. But I don’t expect to see it again, and I’m 
so sorry, dear.” 

It was a present from her, and he was grieved for 
her sake. 

“ It doesn’t matter,” she said softly, for he should 
not be allowed to think she cared for the loss. (It 
was weeks later before she learned what a struggle 
he had had for his life.) “ I’m glad you’re safe at 
home. Why, even the baby missed you; didn’t you, 
Harry boy?” taking the crooning child with mater- 


AT THE SEA-SHORE. 


169 


nal delight from the girl, and after holding him at 
arms’ length in front of the father, placed him in 
the lap of the young husband, who could not refrain 
from a display of anxiety at this juncture. 

“I don’t know how to hold him, Nellie,” he said 
apprehensively. 

“ There, just keep him in that position. Don’t 
move,” innately tickled at the plaintive tone of his 
voice. “Wait till I bring you a nice cold lemonade. 
Come, Sarah. Tell the cook to hurry up,” and she 
danced into the house, trilling a song as light-hearted 
as any young wife could be who had everything to 
enjoy, with the world’s delights at her command. 

After some moments of painful suspense to the man 
on the piazza, the baby’s mother appeared with a 
tray bearing a luscious beverage in a glass, two or 
three straws by its side, strawberries and slices of 
pine-apple pushed in among the particles of crushed 
ice, and a faint coloring to the mixture, as if a 
stronger element had been added. 

“Drink that, Edwin. You do look so fatigued. 
Does it suit?” she asked, as he inserted a straw and 
took a dainty sip, desirous of prolonging the luxury 
of taste. 

“It’s delicious! When did you learn to make 
them?” 

“ Mamma showed me how years ago. She taught 
me to be quite a housewife. You didn’t know you 
possessed such a treasure, did you? Just think! 
She will be home soon, and I haven’t seen her for 
nearly two years. Why, she must know Europe by 
heart. I can just imagine that she will have a real 
foreign air. Yes, that reminds me,” and the fair 


170 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

face grew clouded, and there was a harsh tone of an- 
tipathy for something in her speech. “ There was 
another matter that worried me yesterday. Here, 
Sarah, take the child; he’s getting sleepy,” handing 
the dozing infant to the “ assistant,” who had just 
reappeared in the doorway. “Good-night, Harry,” 
and she bent over and imprinted a fond kiss upon 
the little one’s cheek. 

Turning back to her husband, she continued : “ I 
must tell you all about it. It’s horrible. But go 
up and dress. Dinner will be ready soon. You 
can listen better after you’ve eaten.” 

Two hours later, they sat on the veranda looking 
out over the waters, imagining that they could see 
the flash of the Great Point Light on Nantucket, 
away to the southeast. She always declared that a 
faint rim visible in the early morn was that famed 
island, never believing his assurance that it was only 
an outlying islet, such as Muskegat. There they 
sat until the radiance of the rising moon hid all from 
sight, and its silvery reflection played upon the 
rippling waves of the great Atlantic that heaved 
with low, monotonous boom upon the sandy, graveled 
beach. The plank walk was crowded with a merry 
throng, and voices of jest and laughter filled the 
air of night. Occasionally, some belated driver 
came rushing along the boulevard. Upon the little 
jutting point of half-wet shore toward the south a 
few lovers wandered in pairs, unmindful of the fact 
that it was low-tide, or that there was a prophecy of 
rain in the banks of clouds rapidly piling up against 
the open sky, and reminding one of a vessel scudding 
under bare poles. The tinkle of a <piano, the twang 


AT THE SEA-SHORE. 


171 

of a guitar, the melodious puffing of a steam-organ 
in some concert-hall gave fulfilment to Longfellow’s 
promise that “the nights shall be filled with music.” 

Somewhere up-town there was a ball, for the 
deafened reverberations of a brass band broke upon 
the ear, mingled with the hurried stamp of feet and 
the jingling of the window panes. Under the blue 
vault of heaven, that covered the scene in its sub- 
limity of majestic repose, there was joyous life, 
motion, and brightness. 

Austin tossed his post-prandial cigar over the rail- 
ing into the grass of the garden-plot, and, turning to 
his wife, beckoned to her to take a seat in his lap. 
“I’m rested now, and can hold such a great woman 
as you are with ease.” 

“ I’m not a big woman. I only weigh one hundred 
and forty pounds, ” she retorted with a slight grimace 
of assumed offence at his words. 

“Just big enough, dear,” and he rubbed his long, 
brown mustache against her cheek. “ What was the 
‘horrible matter’ you were to tell me?” 

He had perfect knowledge of the excessive amount 
of highly strung adjectives that form a part of the or- 
dinary woman’s phraseology, and he had been really 
curious to hear this revelation; but ordinarily he 
was not of an inquisitive nature, and he would not 
allow it to be seen that such a feeling had dominated 
him now. In his profession he was earnest and 
hard-working — had even thought of preparing some 
medical “ papers, ” though he was not of a literary 
turn of mind — but as regards outside matters he was 
indifferent to such an extent that some people thought 
his lack of interest to be the result of a careless 


172 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

nature. But we are constantly misunderstood in 
this world, and most frequently by those who are 
and should be the nearest and dearest to us. It 
requires a strong infusion of philosophy to bear 
implications which come with added intensity of 
injustice from relatives and friends. It is sad and 
true that our blood connections are often the last to 
acknowledge the merit of our efforts — the good that 
is in us ; and, with the assertive right and familiarity 
born of kinship, are the first to condemn. This ap- 
plies more forcibly to the communities of the north- 
ern half of the United States than to the southern. 
In the latter, they are likely to err in the contrary 
direction. 

Austin knew all this: he accepted conditions that 
could not be changed — not willingly, perhaps; and 
he regarded the world’s opinion at its proper value 
and signification. At least, it required something 
more than a newspaper item, current gossip, or an 
idle report to make him believe in a man’s goodness 
or superiority, or to accept as a fact an accusation of 
dishonesty or dishonor. His wife was thoroughly ac- 
quainted with her husband’s disposition, and she 
also was aware that his habitual good-nature was not 
an evidence of mental weakness. He might not be 
a brilliant man, though for a physician of indepen- 
dent wealth he was certainly a painstaking one, and 
if of generous impulses, he could be roused to a pitch 
of virtuous indignation that would brook no defiance, 
nor be satisfied with any attempted excuse. So she 
deliberated for an instant, and then spoke hesitatingly 
as if the subject had escaped her memory for a time, 
or was of trifling import. This was a mere subter- 


AT THE SEA-SHORE. 


173 


fuge, however, for she had been nervously anxious to 
impart the information to him ever since his re- 
turn. 

“ Oh, yes ! What I mentioned. And it is horrible. 
That detective, Hicks, was here.” 

“ Do you mean to tell me that that fellow is again 
calling at my house?” His voice was stern, and 
there was an added rigidity to his features that she 
could plainly see. “ I will not have it. The next 
time he comes, I want you to order him from the 
door. I will obviate that necessity, perhaps,” and 
in pursuance of this determination he wrote a terse 
note to Hicks on the following day (addressing it to 
detective headquarters) , the purport of which it was 
impossible to misunderstand. 

“ I couldn’t help it, Edwin. He insisted upon 
seeing me, and we had a long talk. He has been^ to 
England to arrest some criminal, it seems, and he 
saw Mr. Harrod there, [Never, as she had told her 
mother, would she call that man “father,” and now 
she was proud of her determination.] I don’t ad- 
mire detectives, dear, any more than you do; but 
Mr. Hicks was very polite, and I couldn’t see any 
reason for being offended at him. It appears he 
has discovered I dislike Mr. Harrod, and I suppose 
he called to ascertain the cause. Of course he’s 
one of those men that doesn’t tell everything he 
thinks. I was glad to have an opportunity to thank 
him for sending us such a treasure as Sarah — you 
can't deny she has been,” and the husband nodded 
acquiescence to this. 

“ He was very confidential, and I understand from 
his talk — he didn’t assert it positively, remember,” 


174 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

she interpolated, almost out of breath, for her speech 
had been rapid, partly owing to a fear that her hus- 
band in his anger would stop her in the recital of 
this interview — “ that Mr. Harrod is the other sus- 
pected man — ‘the man with the set face,’ you know, 
that called on my father. I understood, like a flash, 
why I had always mistrusted and despised that man. 
It was intuition. He was the one that killed poor 
papa.” 

“ Killed the devil!” was the incongruous exclama- 
tion of the other. “ Pardon my profane speech,” as 
he saw the reproving amazement pictured in her 
eyes. His gentle tones proved that he craved for- 
giveness. 

“ Nellie!” 

“ What?” 

He was looking into her face seriously. “ I don’t 
want to believe you are losing your mind, but the 
distrust of those nearest and dearest to us is the first 
symptom of insanity.” 

“He is not ‘near’ or ‘dear’ to me,” she retorted 
saucily. 

“ Perhaps not ; but he is to your mother and my- 
self, at least, and to many others, I am sure. You 
are the best woman in the world, but this treatment 
of your stepfather is a very serious defect in your 
angelic composition. You have grown morbid from 
thinking on this one theme. I know John Harrod 
well, and I think he is one of the grandest men I ever 
met.” 

“I don’t care,” returned the wife, quite ready to 
burst into tears, for this slight remonstrance from 
her husband was more nearly a quarrel than any- 


AT THE SEA-SHORE. 


175 


thing else that had yet happened in their married 
life. He was very angry, and his face was set quite 
hard, his manner cold toward her. “ I do believe he 
did it, and the detective thinks so, too.” 

“The detective! Pshaw! Why, this thing oc- 
curred eight years ago. What’s the detective been 
doing all this time? And how do you know he 
thinks so? Do you know that if Hicks would dare to 
make that assertion in public he would be kicked 
out of New York City in twenty-four hours? And 
that wouldn’t be the end of it either. How do you 
know what he thinks?” and in his righteous indigna- 
tion Edwin Austin almost forgot he was speaking to 
his wife. 

“ He said there were so many implicated” — 
and her voice was sadly broken — “ that he had lost 
time in following false clews. Then he’s very busy 
with other matters. His brother officers make fun 
of him for holding on to this case, and call him a 
‘crank. ’ ” * 

The last term was a new one, but Austin under- 
stood its application and significance. 

“ He told me he didn’t want to believe such a 
dreadful state of affairs — ‘entertain such a suspicion, ’ 
he said ; but he knew surely that Mr. Harrod was 
the man that called — that the two were identical.” 

“ But how does he know it? And even if Mr. 
Harrod is the one man they’ve been trying to find, 
that doesn’t prove his guilt. Why doesn’t he accuse 
Mr. Harrod at once — to his face, when he met him 
in London, for instance — instead of running to you 

* This horrible word is the offspring of that miserable assassin 
Guiteau. 


176 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


and other supposed enemies of my friend" (and he 
accentuated the word strongly) with this little tale?” 
asked the husband, irritably, at the same time un- 
winding his arm from his wife’s waist. The con- 
stant relation of this tragedy and a never-failing dis- 
covery of the guilty party, who always proved to be 
innocent, was very exasperating, and for his wife’s 
sake he wanted the affair buried in oblivion. And 
now to accuse Harrod! He felt like indulging in 
the street slang of “ Rats!” 

“It’s true, though, Edwin,” and she rose slowly 
with quivering lips and fluttering heart, drawing 
away from the cold presence of her husband, know- 
ing too well that she would not secure any show of 
affection from him as long as this discussion contin- 
ued: “ Mr. Hicks has an old photograph of Mr. Har- 
rod, which he showed to the servant-girl who lived at 
the boarding-house, and who is now a married woman 
in Philadelphia, and she recognized it as a pict- 
ure of the man with the ‘set face.’ She is willing 
to swear to it in court. I don’t know why the de- 
tective doesn’t arrest him ; I suppose he is waiting 
for more proof. ” 

“Poor Harrod! He’ll explain it, if there’s any- 
thing that needs explanation, when he returns. 
I’ve no fear of his not being able to show he is not 
culpable, and no doubt of his integrity. He is a 
noble man, and I’m proud to be classed as his 
friend;” and Mr. Austin sethis teeth together with 
almost a snap, indicating that the absent one could 
rest assured of one strong pillar of support in the 
possible hour of need. 

“Perhaps,” and in reflex feeling, her tones were 


AT THE SEA-SHORE. 


177 


acrid ; “ but this explains the cause of my deep-rooted 
aversion to him. If he did do that cruel thing, I’d 
like to hang him myself.” 

“Your sentiments are not very creditable to a 
woman of kindly heart, and you forget he is your 
mother’s husband. ” The lips opened just far enough 
to curl in infinite disdain. He was really seriously 
offended; his eyes snapped; but she had a diseased 
mind on this subject. He would be her physician, 
and — and, he would not quarrel. He rose to his 
feet and caught her by the arm. 

“ Come Nellie, let’s go in and see baby. The dew 
is falling.” 

As they passed in-doors the nurse girl rose from 
the lounge just inside, where she had been lying 
down, and followed them silently, whispering : “ Mrs. 
Austin will help Reuben all she can; I see that.” 

12 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE GIRL DETECTIVE. 

Reuben Hicks, before his departure across the 
ocean with extradition papers to take in charge the 
noted criminal, “Big Mike,” who had been con- 
cerned in the celebrated Manhattan Bank robbery,* 
as it was popularly styled, had a long and singular 
conference with his chief. He had been informed 
that the newly married pair, Mr. and Mrs. Austin, re- 
quired the services of a nurse. Reuben had a sister 
of nineteen, who since her parent’s death had lived 
a humdrum existence with prosaic relatives among 
the granite hills of her native State, but who, with 
the natural anxiety of youth to see something of the 
world as exemplified in the phases of a great city, 
had frequently written^ to him, almost in a tone of 
supplication, imploring his permission to allow her to 
come to New York. She would have been better 
satisfied to live in Boston, if he had been residing 
there ; for it was educational advantages she craved 
more than all else. Upon paying a late visit to his 
old home, he had become better acquainted with the 
young lady whom he had not seen since her girlhood, 
and he was particularly impressed with her natural 
instinct of seeing into people’s character. They 
were the only two left of the family, and common 

* Occurred on Sunday, October 27, 1878. 

US 


THE GIRL DETECTIVE. 


179 


affection dictated to him that it would be best for 
their mutual interests to be near one another. Then, 
he had the pleasure of meeting his sister’s very dear 
friend, a dashing brunette of twenty-one. At least, 
she was of that type as faf as eyes and complexion 
were concerned, but her glorious tresses of hair were 
mingled dark and auburn — not a coarse red, but the 
mixture of gold and brown that Titian loved to por- 
tray. It looked like burnished bronze in the sun- 
light, but was of Egyptian darkness if seen only 
under the rays of the moon or in a half-lighted room 
at night. She appreciated the merits of this earnest,, 
capable man, and apparently enjoyed both his com- 
pany and his conversation during his brief stay. 
Her modest indorsement of his sister’s solicitations 
had secured the unconditional promise from Reuben 
that Sarah should be allowed to remove to New 
York. Both the young ladies were radiant with joy 
when he had finally consented. 

“It will give me an opportunity, Mr. Hicks,” the 
charming “ friend” had remarked to him, “ to make 
a long-desired trip to that city, for Sarah and I will 
not be willing to be separated for any great length 
of time — will we, pet?” affectionately fondling the 
plump figure who sat by her side on the parlor sofa 
—one of those hideous contrivances of stained wood 
and horse-hair that were once considered the manual 
sign of respectability in the ordinary country and 
town home of New England, but which, thanks to the 
efforts of the apostles of Delsarte and the disciples of 
Oscar Wilde, or the reign of common sense, are fast 
being relegated to their proper desuetude. 

“No, Rachel, we can not,” was the commonplace 


i8o 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


but hearty response from her companion, a young 
lady of medium height, with delicate features, a face 
that was colorless but cut like a cameo, in which two 
luminous gray eyes sat far back in the head with 
that retrospective gaze that told of intellectual 
acumen. The forehead was almost too full and 
bold for feminine beauty. Light brown hair that 
gave no evidence of unnecessary friction with a stiff 
brush, but curled in careless freedom, added dignity 
to her appearance. A physiognomist would have 
said she was a female Napoleon. No one had ever 
called her pretty, though she was beautiful with the 
look of a true soul and mind imprinted upon her 
features. 

Partly in response to the charm exerted upon him 
by the bright eyes of the young lady and the supe- 
riority of his sister’s character, Reuben was almost 
tempted then to express a wish that the two girls 
could live together in the new home. He was selfish 
enough to wish that Miss Rachel Walker could be 
where he would have frequent opportunities of ex- 
tending his acquaintance with her. He was hardly 
rich enough to support Sarah as he could have 
wished, and there were sundry objections to let- 
ting her fill the usual forms of employment, such 
as secretary, clerk, amanuensis, or typograph. She 
should never be a shop-girl as long as he possessed 
a dime. Her detective instinct, stronger than his, 
possibly might be utilized to the greatest extent, 
and he had long known he needed the aid of femi- 
nine ingenuity. 

There is a class of restless women who would un- 
dertake a prize trip around the world, the manage- 


the girl detective!* 


iSi 

ment of a temperance crusade, or accept the nomi- 
nation for the mayoralty with equal alacrity and 
equal inability to fill the duties of the engagement 
or office. But his sister was not a representative of 
this irrepressible, dissatisfied species. She was a 
good, sturdy, healthy girl with no nonsense about her, 
well educated, of an independent nature, and pos- 
sessed a wonderful talent for drawing, particularly 
in caricature — a forte which caused some of her ac- 
quaintances to be careful not to offend the sensibil- 
ities of one who could portray their mental or phys- 
ical weaknesses in an unanswerable argument with 
a half-dozen strokes of the pencil. Her kindness of 
heart, however, deterred her from making her nat- 
ural gift an imposition, although her genius was 
readily recognized. Some of her drawings and one 
or two water-colors had taken prizes at subordinate 
exhibitions and county fairs. The one great craving 
of her soul was to take an art course in the Parisian 
schools. She had read of David and Le Brun, and 
she could almost copy from memory the master- 
pieces of Poussin, Lorraine, and Du Fresnoy. Her 
ambition was a torture to her, while confined to her 
humble sphere with a total absence of congenial 
promptings. A lack of sufficient capital was the 
only reason she had not already — despite the remon- 
strances of her friends, who spoke of the dangers 
surrounding the life of a single and unprotected 
woman in the gay capital — taken her way across the 
Atlantic. She had the same contempt for trite 
reasonings as had her brother. With but slight 
financial aid from him, she had paid her living ex- 
penses for some years past, only a little surplus 


182 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


remaining at the end of the fiscal year, as she had 
laughingly told her constant companion, the inter- 
esting brunette, who had one brilliant attraction — 
the power to converse fluently on a great variety of 
subjects. Her lively talk was a decided contrast to 
Sarah’s brevity of speech. The sister’s mind was 
largely of the analytical order, and it was her keen 
dissection of the aims and motives of those about 
her that had aroused Reuben’s wonder. 

Sarah had plainly told her brother that Rachel 
was just the kind of a woman he needed for a wife. 

“I’m sure she could help me wonderfully,” he 
had said, referring to his sister while enjoying the 
single tete-a-tete he had with the voluble young wo- 
man of such lovely dark eyes, for he had in confidence 
told her his earnest desire to secure his sister’s as- 
sistance. 

“Undoubtedly, Mr, Hicks, for she’s very smart, 
and her perception of people’s character is remark- 
able.” 

And, though maiden delicacy forbade, she would 
gladly have added that she believed she, too, could 
aid him. After loving the sister so dearly, it was 
not difficult to feel a strong interest in the brother. 
Sarah’s anxiety to see more of human nature, to 
know more of the world than can be acquired from 
books or association with the small community she 
knew, and which she regarded as commonplace, was 
the chief source of her desire to live in the Me- 
tropolis. Like all the honest followers of M. Lecoq, 
the mere shadowing and watching of people was a 
branch of his art despised by Reuben. He liked 
finesse and the more complicated transactions. If 


THE GIRL DETECTIVE. 183 

• 

there was a will in dispute, if there were suspicions 
of misappropriated money, if a shop-keeping firm 
was desirous of knowing how its employes spent 
their money, or an anonymous letter was to be 
traced to its origin, the woman detective would nat- 
urally delight in the mystery, the secrecy and di- 
plomacy of the discovery. Yes, there was a place 
for Sarah. 

Would his chief consent to such an arrangement? 
was the question he put after he had explained his 
intention at length to that worthy man a few days 
after his return from New Hampshire. The worthy 
was dubious. It was an innovation, and as such it 
was not agreeable to his conservative training. 
(This is another term for mingled prejudice and 
stupidity.) 

Again, there was • no appropriation for such work, 
though she might be employed under the class of 
special detectives. Sorely against his inclination, 
for he hated to yield to the appearance of a belief 
that he did not know the requirements of his busi- 
ness, he at last consented, hedging his assent to the 
proposition with restrictions that would have caused 
a less determined man than Reuben to indignantly 
withdraw his application. Her name was placed 
upon the rolls at a small compensation (almost too 
low to be called a salary) — simply, however, as S. W. 
Hicks. There was no prefix to the name, and only 
inquiry would have revealed the fact that it was a 
“ Miss. ” The arrangement was also kept secret from 
the entire force. If she did nothing or proved in- 
competent, her name could be quietly erased. Only 
his friendship for Hicks sustained the superior officer 


184 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


in this tribulation of a new departure — the demolition 
of traditions and the precedents of the office. 

Her position as a bread-winner was peculiar, and 
yet her first case, in which she was successful — dis- 
covering by her clever services how the designs for 
novelties of a Broadway house were being shown to 
a rival corporation — won the chief’s unqualified ap- 
proval. But Reuben soon managed to have her 
engaged at the home of the Austins, and here under 
the name of Sarah Woods — her last name being 
eliminated for what might be termed family reasons 
— she had lived, hunting for what her brother be- 
lieved to be the lost clew. He went there imme- 
diately upon his return, but the house was closed. 
With little difficulty, he learned of the family’s 
sojourn at Oak Bluffs, and presented himself as 
has been recorded. When he had made his adieux, 
he passed along the hall, took silently from his sis- 
ter’s hand at the door a roll of paper, upon the leaves 
of which she had written her report, and for which 
he gave her a kiss and a beaming smile of welcome. 
Not a word was spoken by either. The walls were 
thin, conversation might be overheard, and no one, 
at least now, must know their secret. In the shelter 
of his room he read her statements. The written 
sentences told him that Mr. Austin would give time 
and money in defence of Mr. Harrod; that Mrs. 
Austin was the strongest ally they could secure, and 
there followed a list of what she had designated “ pos- 
sibilities.” Among the half-dozen was one that he 
read twice : “ That so??ie one unknown may have entered ', 
unobserved, and, after committi?ig the crime, escaped through 
the open front door.” 


THE GIRL DETECTIVE. 


1^5 

“Yes, little sis, ” he mused, “ ’ tis true there may 
have been a revengeful spirit, who followed him from 
the Pacific coast, and only found an opportunity at 
that last moment; but you may originate a dozen 
other possibilities just as good. The idea is not 
new. What I want is a probability . ” 

Her revelations were slight, but Reuben had not 
expected much. The couple lived as cheerfully as 
any properly mated pair would do; but Mrs. Austin, 
apparently without reason, had conceived a great 
aversion for her stepfather. This he already knew. 
Why was it? He had seen a gleam of satisfaction in 
her eyes when he hinted the idea of Mr. Harrod’s 
complicity ; but she had not replaced any confidence 
in him. Perhaps she had none to make. Sarah 
thought it could only be explained on psychological 
grounds. When she was a member of Harrod’s 
household she might be able to secure the key of the 
mystery. It was arranged that she was to be trans- 
ferred by the daughter, Helen, to the service of her 
mother, who had requested her to find a ladylike 
house-girl ; and Mrs. Austin, thoroughly satisfied with 
Sarah’s exemplary manner, had, after ascertaining 
the latter’s willingness to accept the new position, 
written to Mrs. Harrod, who was then in Buda-Pesth, 
that she had “ a gem ” of a girl, who would be just 
what her mother wanted, and from whom she would 
part with disinclination, although baby now only 
needed the attention of some child to wheel him 
about in his carriage. “ And Harry was so fond of 
Sarah,” although there was nothing in the young 
woman’s disposition to invite affection from any 
one, she was so reserved and perfectly self-contained. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


A NEWSPAPER MAN. 

L. Buncombe Meeks was, in his own' proud words, 
an a attacks oi the New York Twirler .” A sensible 
man would have said that he had connection, edito- 
rial, business, or reportorial, with that paper. We do 
not sketch him as a type — Heaven forbid ! He was 
simply an excrescence. 

There was no doubt as to the fitness of the name 
of the journal, for it was Republican or Demo- 
cratic, Mugwump or Greenback, Independent or 
irreligious, according to the amount of money sent 
in for its paid expressions on public affairs. The 
larger the check the more dilution of opinion. Sym- 
pathy was freely given to the readers. It was popu- 
larly known as a venal paper, whose utterances one 
day contradicted those of the preceding issue. One 
railroad president, Gob Barrett, had sneeringly re- 
ferred to the cheapness of its columns as an adver- 
tising medium ; for it had only cost him $200 for a 
statement, under the guise of a published editorial, 
which was really worth several thousands to his 
corporation at that time. 

Meeks, who was a sort of Sir Fretful Plagiary, had 
come from his home on what is locally known as the 
Eastern Shore of Maryland. He had grown up from 
a common origin, among the sand and dwarf pine 
trees, the peach-tree orchards and watermelon patches 
186 


A NEWSPAPER MAN. 


187 

of that favored section, famous for its mosquitoes and 
whiskey (quinine being the habitual remedy for the 
prevalent malaria), its delicacies of soft crabs, oys- 
ters, and terrapins; and he had passed his early, 
senseless existence on the shores of some one of the 
numerous creeks or estuaries of the Chesapeake in- 
denting that country. A term at a seminary up 
among the hills of the western part of the State had 
completed what he regarded as a finished education, 
on the principle of being the first man in the village, 
if not a Csesar at Rome. 

His diplomacy and careful snobbery in the office, 
where he soon became a pet of the publisher of the 
paper — who, managing a trust estate, considered 
himself both editor and proprietor and instilled that 
idea into the minds of all casual acquaintances — and 
thereby secured his own rapid advancement from the 
position of reporter to that of an editorial assistant, 
where he was generally made into a Landouzie, offi- 
ciating only as such a popular character could do. 
He was really the publisher’s messenger, and his os- 
tentatious display of the trust placed in him caused 
him to be the best-hated man connected with the 
paper. It was one of those glaring instances where 
incompetency, mental vacuity, and servility take 
the place of merit and worth — in reality, an out- 
rageous usurpation. A wise dispensation of Provi- 
dence does not allow such a malodorous and incom 
sistent incongruity to remain longer than to serve 
the moral of offensive tribulation that may come 
upon the good, wise, and pure. Some of his confreres, 
fearing his vindictive inclinations, toadied toward 
him with the same unction and time-serving fawn- 


i88 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


ing he showed his employer; but a few others, whose 
position was too strong to be "affected by his whims 
or enmity, held him in undisguised contempt. The 
amount of work he performed for the columns of the 
news-sheet was quite remarkable in its littleness. 
As a space-writer he would not have earned enough 
to pay his board. Cribbed editorial paragraphs and 
rewritten cuttings formed his stock in trade, or oc- 
casionally a transposed item from some magazine 
article was presented by him as original “matter.” 

One earnest, capable Bohemian of great talent, 
whose work was acceptable anywhere, who was 
noted for his “ scoops, ”* and who wrote over the 
pseudonym of “ Lud,” had publicly referred to him 
as “a great newspaper fake.” When it was proved 
that the story contributed by Meeks to a popular 
weekly had been plagiarized bodily from the pages 
of an old, out-of-print, and comparatively forgotten 
monthly, the outspoken condemnation of “ Lud ” was 
accepted as a popular verdict. The publisher, 
Sunga, had, however, virtually instigated his subor- 
dinate to this piece of chicanery; for he had allowed 
some reputable journals to state, quite definitely, 
that he was the author of the famous anonymous 
literary success, “The Bread-Winners.” This pub- 
lisher, who was also known to have denied his 
nationality and discarded his assumed religious affil- 
iation, who had been denounced by a high dignitary 
of the Church as “ a renegade,” stood by his favorite 
in the hour of need, acting upon the principle em- 
braced in the “ fellow-feeling” theory, and because 

* Or “ beat,” in newspaper parlance. It signifies special news no 
other paper secures. 


A NEWSPAPER MAN. 


189 

his overwhelming’ vanity needed the daily doses of 
flattery from Meeks (who understood the craving 
desire for notoriety actuating this bombastic weak- 
ling), and, if necessary, the false testimonials he 
was willing to give in support of his employer’s 
greatness of mental strength. Two crafty, sneaking 
natures had met — the one fawning and obsequious, 
the other pompous, fraudulent, and vulgar. It was a 
sight to make angels weep, but reliable men smiled 
scornfully. 

Still, the heart of Meeks was sad. Rumors of his 
literary piracies were rife, and a general era of un- 
belief hedged him in. Some one had remarked that 
the initial to his parted name probably stood for 
Liar, although he had stated it was Linear, his 
mother having taken a fancy to the name after see- 
ing the word in a discarded arithmetic that formed 
about one-fourth of the home library. If so, as 
some wag remarked, it was the only “ straight” char- 
acteristic about him ; for his reputation was dubious, 
and beneath a thin body of cadaverous outlines hung 
a very irregular, bony pair of legs, and there were 
bulbs on his hands and feet, and lumps on his face 
that indicated a physical unsoundness. For weeks 
his coarse, grunty laugh had been hushed. There 
was a limit to the endurance of the leading writers, 
and it was not possible to farther advance him in 
position. But the publisher could increase his salary 
from time to time, which he did with an unsparing 
hand, in strong contrast with the ungenerous mood 
he displayed toward abler men. Meeks, after severe 
mental worry, arrived at the conclusion, principally 
assisted by a stray item which told of the lucky dis- 


190 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

covery by an employ^ of a contemporary sheet, that 
a reporter must necessarily be a superior detective, 
and in confirmation of this theory he talked glibly 
of the startling acuteness in some wonderful work 
done by apocryphal characters, whose careers were 
loosened from his not fertile but fervid brain — or 
from the mass of gelatinous substance that did duty 
for that organ. In his opinion all crime could be 
readily traced by the ordinary newspaper man, and 
a detective bureau, with its scores of henchmen, 
was quite an unnecessary addition to the expense 
account of a municipal government. Arm a reporter 
with pencil, paper, proper authority, and a warrant, 
and the millennium must perforce approach with 
rapid haste. He would disestablish the condition 
by a theory. It was lovely but crude. Even the 
crushing retort that a man of native detective im- 
pulse might have taken the situation of a news- 
gatherer, and then, guided by his unerring instinct, 
have unearthed some hidden tragedy, did not disturb 
the complacency of Meeks, who was satisfied that he 
possessed qualities which might distinguish him in 
this special vocation. He wouldn’t think of losing 
his proud standing as a purveyor of news, for he was 
enraptured when the thought came to him of how 
many brethren of the press had gone to Congress, 
had sat in the legislative halls, had filled the guber- 
natorial chairs ; and this scintillating fancy was only 
dimmed by his failure to find that not one had been 
the chief magistrate of this great republic. Wasn’t 
there some old buried crime he could turn up to the 
light of day — some broken links he could weld to- 
gether? If fate would only serve him for once ! It 


A NEWSPAPER MAN. 191 

would bring him fame, give him a national rep- 
utation perhaps, for — a week. 

What a luscious anticipation! The boy, always 
hated by his school companions way down in Dor- 
chester county for the contemptible meanness of 
his behavior — giving strong evidence of the dislike 
they held by stoning him for his youthful proclivities 
in seeking the influence of those above him by slav- 
ish fawning (the sobriquet of “ Tell-tale Meeks” was 
known for miles around) — made into a great man, to 
become identified with greatness, and tho^e childish 
associates forced to see his name surrounded with lines 
of commendation and praise, a whole country amazed 
at his powers of deduction, and the press of a nation 
lauding him for unwonted skill! He was almost 
delirious. Like Alnaschar of old, he already was 
kicking at his enemies when — alas! he could not see 
even the basket of eggs or glassware before him. 
Surely it was an inspiration. But there must be a 
beginning, and in his leisure hours, which were 
many, he scanned the files of the newspaper, turning 
the pages back from those of the last year — for his 
memory, like his legs, was weak. He found items 
in abundance There were ghastly murders, strange 
disappearances, unknown suicides, and he marked 
in his memorandum-book the date of the more start- 
ling ones. He read quite patiently for a few days, 
until he came to the report of Sampson’s trial, and 
from that reference was easy to the “ Startling Trag- 
edy,” recorded on June 17, 1873. 

This account impressed his fancy stronger than all 
the rest. He made investigations, and obtained some 
information from the detective headquarters. 


192 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


It was strange that so little effort had been made 
toward unraveling the mysterious skein of events. 

Why had not some boarder in the house been 
suspected? The entire proceedings were very stu- 
pid, to be sure. The acquaintance of Hicks must be 
formed, but that gentleman was still in Europe. 
How he chafed under the forced delay to the comple- 
tion of his plans! He ascertained the date of the 
detective’s return, saw him come from the steamer 
with the prisoner he had extradited, and, as soon as 
Reuben had landed the man in the Tombs, sought 
the former with a personal introduction. What did 
Mr. Hicks think of the Catherwood case? Well, Mr. 
Hicks had many thoughts upon the subject, but he 
was not in the habit of expressing his beliefs or con- 
jectures to strangers at the first meeting. 

Still, the newspaper man was certain the matter 
might be laid open to the public gaze, announced 
himself with great effrontery as being of the opinion 
that “things had been going too slow,” and held the 
detective buttonholed, boring him with dreary plat- 
itudes, cant phraseology of the composing-room, and 
intimations of his projected task to find the criminal. 

“I reckon I know who he is now, Hicks,” using 
the easy familiarity of an ill-bred person who mis- 
takes this form of salutation upon short acquaintance 
for evidence of his knowledge of social forms, and 
comradeship, thinking it will be appreciated by those 
addressed. 

“ Ah ! And may I ask whom you have honored 
with your suspicions,” inquired the other in a tone of 
delicate sarcasm, that would have wilted a man of 
finer susceptibilities. “ I shall gladly receive your 


A NEWSPAPER MAN. 


193 


information, for I’ve been seeking the party for 
nearly eight years, and my efforts have been un- 
availing.” 

It was his first sight of Meeks, but he had taken 
mental measure of the other, and but half veiled the 
contempt he felt for the self-satisfied ass who grasped 
all knowledge with so flimsy a hold. 

“Why, study the motive, Hicks.” The detective 
was prompted to knock him down at this repetition 
of an uncalled-for vulgar assurance. And then, the 
motive . When bare possibilities become fixed facts 
and probabilities are base illusions; when the man 
caught with smoking gun, standing over the fast- 
chilling corpse, is really innocent, and only a victim 
of circumstances or fatality ; when the hypocrite fre- 
quently is not unmasked till after death, and the one 
upon whom vituperation has been showered during 
life is deified after his passage to a less troublesome 
world; when truth is a paradox and a man a mystery 
to himself — how can any one define the motive? God 
alone knows the truth. 

Reuben had studied this complex problem for 
years, harassed and perplexed by conflicting ideas ; 
and now this mental runt with elastic brain was bid- 
ding him to study the motive ! 

“ I see but one person, if we except the widow, 
who has been' benefited by Catherwood’s removal, 
and he has taken advantage of the situation — has 
done right well, too.” 

“ Do you refer to Sampson or Mr. Austin?” 

“Of course not. I mean Harrod, the lawyer. 
Don't you see it? It’s a plain case. Plain as the 
nose on your face. ” 

13 


194 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

As Meeks’ nasal appendage was, in its offensive 
shape and size, more of a protuberance than that of 
the detective — a nose more of bony construction 
than of cartilaginous formation — a just and wise 
mentality should have prompted the speaker to men- 
tion his own facial adornment. But a lion’s skin 
has always failed to conceal an inferior beast. It 
was by only the mightiest effort of will that the de- 
tective kept his hands off the fellow standing in front 
of him, and not even that self-imposed restraint could 
quiet the tremor of his voice, as he replied : “ When 
you know that gentleman as I do, with his high moral 
purpose, his blameless life, and his great intellectual 
strength, always used for the benefit of his fellow- 
man, you will possibly entertain a second considera- 
tion of the matter.” 

Then he turned abruptly away, with only a slight 
inclination of his head, muttering: “The puppy! 
How I would like to kick him !” 

Harrod might be guilty, but if so it was the only 
flaw in a long life of stainless character and action, 
and there must be some excuse for it. Possibly he 
had been attacked by Catherwood, and the killing 
was the result of a righteous act of self-defence. 
Any jury would accept the lawyer’s version of the 
affray, and a verdict of justifiable homicide would 
be rendered with ready promptness. But why this 
concealment? Harrod was younger then, and may 
have dreaded the finger of suspicion, the impress of 
a world's scorn and contumely; but now he was so 
strongly intrenched in the hearts of thousands that 
a confession from him would be taken at his own 


A NEWSPAPER MAN. 1 95 

estimate of its valuation. He would have little to 
fear. 

Reuben had decided upon one purpose. If the 
man was to be driven to bay, he should be followed 
in a royal chase, and not run to earth by a petty, 
sniveling cur. All would be known soon. 


BOOK III.— AT HOME. 


CHAPTER XX. 

SECOND HAPPINESS. 

There was not a happier woman in the world than 
Mrs. Harrod the day she set foot on Pier No. — , North 
River. It was “home, sweet home,” and the re- 
echo of the plaintive words of Payne found a resting- 
place in her heart, as they had in that of thousands 
before — as they will in millions yet to come. De- 
spite torn-up pavements, and streets reeking with 
filth, its lowly tenement-house system, and the con- 
stant menace to life, New York has a charm whose 
impress can never be effaced. 

It was the heart’s welcome of familiar scenes, and 
not that she had failed to enjoy this two years’ trip 
that had covered almost every habitable portion of 
Europe — that had extended from the base of the 
Pyramids to the angry, swirling waters off the Loffo- 
den Islands; that had given her a glimpse of the 
burying-ground of Scutari, from the city across the 
Golden Horn of the Bosporus, and a view of the 
Moorish dominions, across the blue sea from the 
Queen’s Chair of the rock-ribbed Gibraltar. But it 
was in Paris and Vienna, Milan and Madrid, where 
every minute brought some new excitement where, 

196 


SECOND HAPPINESS. 


197 


the flying hours were tinged and gilded with fresh 
pleasures, that she quaffed the full cup of delight. 

The butterfly craving instinct, natural to most 
women, was there given full relief. The dull, mo- 
notonous life she had led for more than thirty years 
was but a condiment, sharpening the zest with which 
she entered upon this beautiful existence of travel, 
recreation, and enjoyment. She had told her hus- 
band that it was the real honeymoon to her, the true 
realization of love’s young dream — something she 
had not known in her first marriage, and she had 
felt as if Paradise was at last granted to the patient, 
uncomplaining soul. 

“ Even if I suffer in the years to come, John,” she 
remarked to her husband, as, standing on deck for- 
ward near the bow, they had first sighted the light 
of Fire Island, while the dense, black clouds of 
smoke poured forth from the steamer’s funnels like 
streams of discoloration on a starry throne, and the 
huge throbbings of the monster engine beneath 
seemed to come like the breathings of a worn-out 
heart — “even if life again becomes the miserable, 
unbearable, treadmill routine of the past, nothing 
can take from me the memory of these two years of 
perfect content. Would that to-morrow we turned 
again with our faces to the East,” speaking unknow- 
ingly with Masonic fervor, and sighing as if over 
some departed pleasure soon to become only a re- 
membrance, the recollection of which would even 
quickly fade. 

Then, there was that merciless Hicks still winding 
the threads of irrefutable evidence against this loved 
man. She had almost prayed that the detective 


198 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

might die. Was there a shadow of the gallows to 
throw its ghastly silhouette over the eve of her life? 
Widowed by process of law ! She could almost scream 
in her agony of mind, and yet she must not breathe 
a word of the danger to him — her John. Fore- 
warned would not be forearmed in this instance. 
She would recoil from giving him the insult of sus- 
picion. How could she save him? Flight was use- 
less. Justice would hunt for him were he at the 
poles or buried in an Asiatic jungle. And only the 
sight of that blazing herald, now fast falling to 
leeward, had brought all this turmoil of thought 
upon her. Home was happiness, but it was not 
peace. 

Her husband had been anxious, too, for some 
months past to return to his field of labor, and she 
dared not whisper a hint of the possible calamity 
that might fall upon him. Not that there was proof 
against him — oh, no! but the accusation and his 
tardy explanation would throw a blight over his 
prospects for all time. It was cruel. She hugged 
his arm convulsively. But he had long since be- 
come accustomed to her display of nervousness and 
her naturally depressed moods. 

“ Why should you speak of sorrow in the future, 
Marie? All that is past with the years gone. Don’t 
allow yourself to grow melancholy now, or I shall 
really believe it’s homesickness after all. You’ve 
always been happy with me, haven’t you?” 

“ Always, John. Your very presence has filled my 
heart with joy from the first. There, I’ll be a 
good girl,” and she brushed away a falling tear. 
“ It’s so foolish in me to be despondent when nothing 


SECOND HAPPINESS. 


199 


but joy awaits us. I will not conjure any dismal 
forebodings — it is childish,” but, in her dread of 
possible future misery, she shook with a violent 
tremor. 

“ Are you cold, dear?” he inquired, as he pulled the 
wrap up more firmly about her shoulders. 

“No, not in the slightest. Don’t go. Let’s re- 
main here,” for he had partly turned as if ready to 
escort her from the deck. “ I long to be at home, 
John, but it can not bring me the happiness I’ve 
known since we left there. Why, dear,” and her 
manner became animated, “ I don’t believe that any 
one else could say truthfully, as I can, that I’ve 
hardly known a personal annoyance for twenty-four 
months, all because of your tender care,” and she 
pressed lovingly the arm of the fine-looking man 
at her side, who had grown broad and stout, and 
whose dignified mien was far removed from that of 
the slight physique of the distressed, perturbed stu- 
dent of years ago. “I was annoyed there,” with a 
motion of the head toward the lozenge-shaped island 
beyond, whose point is at the junction of two great 
rivers, “ and I fear a return of some unpleasant con- 
ditions, that’s all.” 

“ Which ones, Marie?” Except in the privacy of 
their rooms he never addressed her with a term of 
endearment. There was something about the man 
that would make sentimentality seem mawkish. He 
was neither cold in heart nor action ; but all life was 
serious to him. A phrenologist would have said that 
there was an entire absence of the bump indicative 
of an expression or appreciation of humor. 

“ What annoyances?” he repeated. 


200 


THE CATHERW00D MYSTERY. 


“Oh, I hardly know. Let’s change the subject, 
please.” She spoke in flurried tones. “Think of it, 
John! I’m a grandmother and you’re not even a 
father yet. Do I look so very old?” and she half- 
pushed him, playfully, in front of her, gazing into 
his face with searching look as if reading the affir- 
mation of what she would have been pained to hear. 

She could not see plainly, for' only the dimmed 
rays of the headlight shone before them, and there 
were broken streaks coming from the cabin-windows 
that intensified the shadows. There was true affec- 
tion in the calm eyes that were directed straight to- 
ward hers, however. 

“Nonsense, Marie. You know you are one of 
those fortunate women who have learnt the secret of 
Ninon de l’Enclos, and who have the charm, if they 
ever do grow old, of doing so gracefully. I’m satis- 
fied with your looks. What’s it to any one else?” 

“ Nothing, dear — nothing. There is no one in this 
wide world — and I know now how much wider it is 
than I imagined years ago — whose beliefs or opinions 
are worth that to me,” and she snapped her fingers 
in great disdain at the imaginary individuals who 
might have the temerity to differ from her husband’s 
views, for his statement was law and religion to her, 
A strict accordance with the facts would qualify 
the implication of Mr. Harrod’s words, nevertheless. 
Perhaps, he knew it, or possibly the lover’s eyes still 
beamed upon the woman who had been such a per- 
fect companion, whose devotion to his interests was 
a never-ending source of wonder to him, if it did 
invite malicious witticism and sneering conjectures 
from the evil-minded ones of their acquaintances. 


SECOND HAPPINESS. 


201 


Her love had been as constant as the perfume the 
salt winds shook from the folds of her black silk as 
it was swished to and fro — a delicate, lasting aroma 
that was individual in itself, and gave no hint of 
vulgarity to those who might object to the personal 
use of extracts. There was a time when it might 
have been doubtful which of the two possessed the 
seniority of years ; but to-day she appeared much the 
elder, and she had secretly confessed, in her inmost 
thought, that she knew it. There was a matronly 
look in her features, not so placid as in years gone by ; 
an increasing tendency to corpulency, that had de- 
prived her of some of her earlier charms. Her eyes 
had lost their youthful brightness, though at times 
there was evidence of a feverish anxiety in them. 

It might be that she dreaded the revenge of time, 
which would reduce her to a condition of homely 
obesity, while he was still a man in the very prime 
and vigor of manhood, with all the energy and capa- 
bility of youth. 

“I’m really anxious to see my grandchild,” she 
continued. “ Helen writes that he is a beautiful boy, 
and wise beyond his years; but what else does a 
mother ever think? Her last letter stated he had not 
been named — christened, I mean ; for I believe they 
are calling him ‘Harry’ for the present. I must 
make her give me the right of conferring a name 
upon him — the best in the world. Do you know 
what I mean?” 

“ I couldn’t possibly guess,” he replied with a half- 
smile at his wife’s evident enthusiasm. The nomen- 
clature of babies is something beyond all limits of 
jurisprudence.” 


202 


THE CATHERWOOt) MYSTERY. 


“ Why, ‘John, ’ of course. No name but ‘John’ ” — 
but she paused abruptly, feeling the slight change 
that passed over him, and imagining she could see 
the look of pain that flitted across his face. With 
ready understanding she blamed herself severely for 
her imprudence of speech. 

“You must remember it is your daughter’s child,” 
and his voice was cold to her ears. 

“ Forgive me, J ohn, for my heedlessness ! I didn’t 
think.” 

The ordinary woman’s reason in excuse of every 
conceivable form of delay, mismanagement, faulty 
conduct, or even of negligence that is criminal. 
Akin to that fine form of logic which they all offer 
as a set reason for argument, and composed wholly 
in the initiatory expression, “ because, ” no sentence 
of the English tongue finds such ready use from 
feminine lips during the periods of childhood, ma- 
turity, and old age as that of “ I didn’t think.” A 
school of methods for collecting one’s wits, where 
memory and the study of your fellow-being’s rights 
form the curriculum, is a national requirement, and 
if supported by the patronage of those who need 
such instruction would be the greatest financial suc- 
cess of the age. 

She knew well enough how vapid was this trite 
apology, and her voice trembled as she spoke. 

“It’s a shame the way Helen has always acted 
toward you! I should have chastised her many 
times if it hadn’t been in deference to your request 
that I would not. I do hope the silly girl has 
changed in that one respect.” 

“ It’s doubtful, Marie. Her conduct has always 


SECOND HAPPINESS. 


203 


been a source of unpleasantness to me, and I must 
now ask you as a favor that we- be kept apart. I can 
bear this injustice no longer.” 

“ And you shall not be offended more. My hus- 
band is first in my affections,” the love-light gleam- 
ing in her eyes and hiding the angry look that had 
been aroused by the thoughts of her daughter’s 
culpability. 

“She has her own home,” the wife continued. 
“Mine — ours, John — can never be opened to her 
till she shows you the respect it is your right to 
exact. ” 

They stood there silently for a few minutes; and 
then, as the night winds were raw and a seething 
gloom had swallowed up everything about the 
steamer, they turned simultaneously toward the 
saloon. As they passed slowly into the spacious 
apartment they were quite blinded by the glare of 
immense chandeliers, whose glass pendents swung in 
merry movements, sending forth coruscations of light 
like the glitter of diamonds. Though music and 
mirth were present, they strolled on, weary from 
their long farewell watch on deck, and troubled in 
mind from the various phantasies their conversation 
had called into being. 

Forty-eight hours later they were domesticated 
at home, and Mrs. Harrod had been given a glimpse 
of the baby, whose blinking eyes, dark like the fa- 
ther’s, had stared in wonder at this new relative, 
but whose hair was of a glossy gold like that of its 
mother. The silky hair made the grandmother 
think of Jabez; and thus, even in her first sense of 
delight at being again surrounded by affection’s ties, 


204 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


a pallor of gloom and miserable remembrance was 
thrown about her. 

Mrs. Harrod duly complimented the sturdy grand- 
child, whose chubby hands were pulling at the lace 
trimmings of her dress in a manner suggestive of an 
incipient tendency for destruction, and expressed ad- 
miration of the household details of her son-in-law’s 
residence. She had not forgotten to ascertain the 
state of her daughter’s feelings toward Mr. Harrod. 
She was horrified to learn that they had not changed, 
but had rather become intensified with time. 
Worse than all was the unexplained declaration of 
the daughter, that now she knew why she had en- 
tertained such an unconquerable aversion for her 
mother’s husband. 

“ Tell me what you mean, Helen ! Have I returned 
home only to bear again the burden of constant 
worry on account of your strange actions and un- 
appeasable dislike of a man whom you should proudly 
honor for himself alone. [Upon her daughter’s lips 
rested a decided, unpleasant sneer.] What has be- 
come of the Christian training I tried to give you?” 
and she grasped the younger woman’s wrists, as if 
impelled to exert her rightful authority as parent. 

“ It can not be helped, dear mother !” The daughter 
pulled her hand away and threw both arms in a long 
embrace around the woman for whom she had never 
lost her childish regard. “You will know in good 
time. Don’t be vexed with me. Let the matter 
rest. I can only see you in this house, you know, as 
I can not enter your doors while that man remains 
there. ” 

“Helen!” The right hand was raised threaten- 


SECOND HAPPINESS. 


205 


mgly. “ I will not bear these insults from you ! Tell 
your husband I shall be pleased to see him at our 
home, but I do not know that I’ll ever come near 
you again.” 

With dignified carriage that failed to conceal the 
hurt she had received, the distressed woman passed 
from the chamber, and, declining to listen further to 
the daughter’s pleadings, called Sarah to her — for 
that handmaid awaited in the vestibule the exit of 
her new mistress — and was driven homeward, sor- 
rowing and harassed at these mad freaks of her only 
child. 


CHAPTER XXL 


THE SYBARITE. 

The architecture of Brooklyn is generally a com- 
bination of that seen in Philadelphia and Baltimore. 
Occasionally, along such thoroughfares as Fulton, 
Flushing, Clinton, and Bedford avenues, and in the 
vicinity of Prospect Park, there is a distinct style 
of building, original and of a local flavor. Along 
Brooklyn Heights and about Montague Place there 
is a faint suggestiveness of Boston solidity. There 
is no more uniformity in the houses than there is 
directness in the streets. Both are a mazy compli- 
cation that never cease to bewilder. The pet word 
“ dite,” is stamped upon theatres, butter, Tompkins 
county apples, and Long Island eggs. 

In this great city of homes, Reuben Hicks lived. 
It was a modest, three-story building (with the prev- 
alent dining-room basement) of pressed brick and 
marble trimmings, very much like the houses in the 
larger Southern cities. It was set back just far enough 
from the picket fence in front to allow the growth 
of a solitary maple and two or three rose-bushes of 
the Jacqueminot order. An old gentleman and his 
wife, wealthy, childless, and solitary, rented the up- 
per rooms unfurnished, simply that they might feel 
a sense of companionship and security. Reuben, 
with a horror of flats and a dislike of hotel-life, had 
206 


THE SYBARITE. 207 

gladly availed himself of the opportunity to rent the 
entire third floor. 

There was a side-garden of ten or twelve feet in 
width, where the grass grew along a trimly-kept 
hedge that bordered the brick walk reaching to the 
blank wall of the more aristocratic and pretentious 
residence which towered up, five stories high, capped 
by a Mansard roof. At the rear was a garden, dain- 
tily arranged in mounds and beds, which was par- 
tially shaded by some small, gnarled apple-trees, and 
in which grew more roses of the tea and blush vari- 
ety, and here also was a struggling cactus-plant that 
did not like its meridional change nor the foreign 
soil under such a cold sky. A cape jessamine crept 
up some trellis- work fixed there for its support, and 
a wild ivy had taken root against the blank-wall, and 
was covering the monotony of brick and plaster with 
its own beautiful festoon. 

A plank walk extended along the centre of the 
plot back to a dainty summer-house, now covered 
with wandering honeysuckle, rich in fragrance — for 
the bloom and loveliness of summer was over all. 
Here, the view to the waters of Gowanus Bay was 
almost unbroken, and but for the presence of some 
unsightly brick-kilns and rude shanties, a few hun- 
dred yards away, one could look beyond Sheepshead 
Bay to the south shores of the island, where in the 
Atlantic numerous white -winged messengers, in 
shape of sloop and schooner, sailed merrily along 
under the impulse of a stirring breeze. 

A second-story chamber had been granted by the 
aged couple as the home of Reuben’s sister, who 
visited her “ family” as often as the willingness of 


208 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


Mrs. Harrod permitted. That lady, however, was 
generous in her treatment of the young girl, both 
as to time and compensation, and for both mother 
and daughter she soon conceived a violent fancy. 
Miss Sarah Woods possessed the not common faculty 
of endearing herself without any personal effort to 
those with whom she came in contact, and in the 
practice of her present occupation it was quite a 
necessary adjunct to success. She had not received 
any pay from the office for the past ten months, as 
this individual enterprise of her brother could not 
be considered as legitimate work of the city bureau. 
He added a weekly stipend to her wages, and had 
promised her the half of the $5,000 he had received 
from Mrs. Harrod in case her assistance led to the 
successful solution of a problem which had now be- 
come a part of his daily existence. It filled his 
dreams at night; it was an ever-recurring thought 
when awake. 

Her room was plainly furnished, though the much- 
loved easel and paint-boxes occupied one corner; 
and here she passed a half-day weekly, and all of 
Sunday every other week, at work with brush and 
pencil, on which occasions she also brought to her 
brother all the information she had to impart ; but 
frequently the details were slight. 

She had advanced a theory of her own, which her 
brother did not accept with the complaisance or 
earnestness of belief she could have wished. 

He was a trifle afraid of her overweening confi- 
dence in her own abilities, although he had great 
faith in her powers of discernment. A woman’s 
sensibilities were likely to draw her into imaginary 


THE SYBARITE. 


209 


conditions devoid of reason, and to precipitate a 
catastrophe as foolish as that of the female mayor 
of a Kansas town, who eloped with the masculine su- 
perintendent of the fire department, both leaving 
families to mourn or to be gladdened, as the case 
may be. 

Though there were only the dainty indications of 
feminine occupancy in her room, with the cut-glass 
bottles resting on the bureau, and the pink bands 
holding back the lace curtains, his apartments were 
a revelation of luxury and a display that was almost 
sensuous. One could understand, after seeing them, 
why he showed such indifference for dress, jewelry 
and personal adornment— why he was lacking in the 
common vices and ulterior habits of a gentleman, 
for here was proof that he had one besetting sin, and 
it was a taste for splendor. 

The drawers of the rosewood bureau were thrown 
open, and dainty piles of garments — cloth, silk, and 
velvet, linen like snow, cravats of splendid hues, 
slippers and smoking-caps, kerchiefs with initials 
worked in hair — were tumbled together in the great- 
est confusion. Strange collection for a man who 
had no aspiration to indulge in swell attire! If he 
had been an unmarried clergyman, no explanation 
would have been needed. They must have been 
useless presents, or else he had purchased them to 
satisfy his love for color. Handsome brocaded fur- 
niture ; rich, creamy velvet carpets, into which the 
foot sank ankle-deep ; curtains of damask and lace ; 
a dark mahogany buffet whose shelving was lined 
with variously colored Bohemian glasses and silver- 
ware, first appealed to one’s sight. An oil painting 
14 


2 IO 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


or two of superior merit ; a copy of a Murillo (“ In a 
Church at Seville”), some half-dozen steel engravings 
of rare execution, chairs, tables and rockers in red and 
gold, next drew the attention. 

Last, there was a book-case of walnut and gilded 
edge, well filled with new, old, and rare specimens of 
the printer’s art and the bookbinder’s fancy, all of 
which, in direct contrast to the other furnishings, 
showed considerable use. There was a set of clas- 
sics: Rabelais and ^Wilkie Collins, Gaboriau and 
Longfellow mixed in strange companionship; his- 
tories, volumes on toxicology and qualitative anal- 
ysis, novels by Boisgobey and Hawthorne, a copy of 
the Koran; while Byron’s and Whittier’s poems 
stood side by side in queer juxtaposition with “ Don 
Quixote” and Goethe’s “Faust.” Then there were 
porcelain lamps and glittering chandeliers, Smyrna 
rugs, feathery scrolls, and a leopard-skin covering a 
bit of tapestry, and everywhere an almost bewilder- 
ing collection of bric-a-brac. In the ante-room, a 
rose-tinted globe cast a mellow light upon a bath-tub 
of pure marble, into which water flowed from solid 
silver faucets. In the small back-room was a collec- 
tion of bottles, phials and jars, some filled with col- 
ored liquids, and only the approximate retort and 
blow-pipe explained their presence; for the owner 
was an enthusiastic chemist, and his practical knowl- 
edge of this fascinating science had been of great 
advantage to him, especially during the past win- 
ter, in the case of Fond vs. Love, when he proved, by 
rubbing some fluid over the apparently blank sheet, 
that a signature had been made, as claimed by the 
plaintiff, in whose employ he offered this test in open 


THE SYBARITE. 


2 1 1 


court, and thereby saved a fortune from being con- 
verted into the wrong channel. The grateful man, 
whose character and prosperity had both been saved 
by the detective’s brilliancy, had insisted upon Reu- 
ben’s acceptance of the magnificent sum of $12,000, 
and some portion of the money had been expended 
in the adornment of these rooms. He had also pre- 
sented his sister with a “ lovely gold watch and chat- 
elaine,” as she wrote her friend Rachel. Together 
with the meagre savings of years he had invested 
the balance judiciously, and was now the possessor 
of some real estate and a few gilt-edged securities. 
Twenty-five hundred dollars of the amount received 
from Mrs. Harrod still lay intact in the bank. 

This Tuesday morning — a day of grace with him 
from professional duty — he sat musing as he stretched 
himself lazily in the recesses of a huge arm-chair. 
He had just completed his morning’s exercises (the 
source of his great strength) with the clubs and 
pulleys of the side-room — which was a miniature 
gymnasium, and which contained an extensive as- 
sortment of pistols, revolvers, daggers, foils, broad- 
swords and cutlasses, most of which had been turned 
over to him as “spoils” from the office. Even 
a billy, several slung-shots, steel knuckles, and a 
network which held a bar of jagged steel in a leath- 
ern thong, were among the lot of dangerous weapons. 
He was in his underclothing, wrapped in a gorgeous 
dressing-gown and apparently exhausted from the 
club-swinging and bag-punching of a few minutes be- 
fore. Presently he rose to throw himself on the 
lounge for a few minutes’ more rest, preparatory to 
taking a bath in the inviting perfumed tub of water 


212 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


that had just been filled. He took up from the 
lounge, almost reverently, an oblong affair with cre- 
tonne covering having a flounce about it; gently 
pulling off this outer case, he saw a most complicated 
structure with intricate needlework and radiant with 
embroideries, silk edgings and millinery fancies, as 
daintily constructed and as full of finery as a bride’s 
valentine. The decorative beauties of this head-rest 
— for it was a sofa-pillow — were pleasing to his en- 
enraptured gaze, but it was the enameled bit of paper 
with her name, “ Rachel,” pinned to it, and the rose 
stitching marked “ Reuben,” that brought a thrill of 
delight to his heart. He laid it carefully aside, and 
seizing the morning paper sank down to rest. But 
he could not refrain from thinking, not of the Cath- 
erwood case, or of the dozen-and-one other perplex- 
ities of his profession, but of a sweet face, the color 
of a rosebud, with eyes of inky blackness and a firm, 
sweet mouth, that had spoken such kind words when 
he had made a hasty visit to New Hampshire the 
week before. It was the second time he had met his 
sister’s friend, and now she had sent him a memento 
in return for a slight favor done her. He had loved 
his bachelor freedom above all else, but there was a 
sentimental change settling upon him. 

“ I don’t suppose I can afford to remain single 
much longer. Every one has the same cant advice 
to give me — get married. ’Tis not good for man to 
live alone. Sis will soon leave and go to Paris, for 
she grows tired of her present derogatory position, 
and I must now assist her to the development of that 
higher ideal. I couldn’t refuse, and I believe she 
has money enough to carry out her project without 


THE SYBARITE. 


213 

my aid; but I’m sure she will remain a short time 
longer, as I so earnestly requested her to do. 
Why is a newly married pair the recipient of so 
many congratulations? Only upon the theory that 
they have made a sensible move. It is a sort of 
public demonstration, that carries out the popular 
belief and voices the sentiments of St. Paul that one 
has done well. And yet it is not always well.” 

His thoughts reverted to the long list within his 
individual knowledge of wife-beaters, wife-murder- 
ers, fair and unfair divorcees, the ruined homes, the 
broken hearts, the strained relations of some still 
wearing the marital yoke, the misery and despair 
this supposed union of hearts had brought. 

Marriage was, ofttimes, a failure. It was a great 
lottery, and there were many blanks ; but some fort- 
unate ones had drawn prizes, and there was no 
prize to compare with this. Would a wife be a help- 
mate to him — a companion, whose tender sympathy 
would excite him to redoubled effort, for whose 
praise he would be roused to emulation greater than 
he had yet known? Or would she be a mere devotee 
of dress, to whom everything from a new pair of 
shoes or gloves to a pearl-and-gold lorgnette was “ just 
lovely,” and her bonnets always “sweetly pretty.” 
Who would have a limited vocabulary, be deficient 
in ideas, speaking of every conceivable object as “ a 
thing, ” and only able to express her convictions to 
the extent that she “ loved” this or “ hated ” that, 
even when it was such a simple matter as a button- 
hole in the first instance or fried potatoes in the sec- 
ond? Would she be a woman to worry him with 
trifling importunities, to evince pleasure only when 


2i4 The catherwood mystery. 

he was able to supply her constant demands for 
“ some change” that she might purchase “ something, ” 
and to whom a shopping-tour was the great object 
of existence. Or could he hope to find an affection 
that neither time nor circumstance could affect ; that 
ill-health or loss of money could not impair, and 
only death could dissolve — one that would bring to 
him an appreciation of his labors and an interest in 
his aspirations? If he only knew there was another 
Mrs. Harrod to be found, and he could secure her 
acceptance of his heart and hand, he would marry 
to-morrow. How devoted that woman had been! 
What constant regard had she always shown that 
favored man, her husband, and how much she had 
aided him in securing the proud position he main- 
tained! 

But “into each life some rain must fall.” It was 
his duty to bring a formal accusation against this 
brilliant lawyer, though the humanity of his heart 
seemed to take the place of the judge. He held in 
his hand some uncontrovertible facts, and yet he 
did not wish to believe in Harrod’s guilty participa- 
tion in the unholy taking-off of Jabez Catherwood, 
and still less did his sister, who was having daily 
opportunities of studying closely the man’s charac- 
ter. The lawyer’s honest eye, and his free, noble 
presence was a physical protest against such an im- 
putation. Alas! Reuben knew he must do something. 

The jibes of his brother officers grew more tanta- 
lizing as the months went by, and his sister persisted 
in evolving a new theory which admitted his whole 
course of reasoning and action to have been wrong 
and unnecessary. Of course the arrest of Sampson, 


THE SYBARITE. 


215 


with its subsequent developments, was a skilful piece 
of work, as even his associates acknowledged; and 
the presiding judge had complimented him upon his 
sagacity. 

The dripping water arrested his attention. He 
jumped up, discarded what slight clothing he wore, 
and a moment later there was a splashing and surg- 
ing, as if some leviathan of the deep was in the outer 
room. After this came a shower-bath and then vio- 
lent rubbing, as the friction of the coarse Turkish 
towels sent his tingling blood into rapid circulation. 
In a few minutes he returned appareled in clean 
linen, a rosy hue visible on face and neck and the 
partly bared arms. His musings, then, as he sank 
down into an old-fashioned cane-seat rocker — the 
only piece of antique furniture in the room — were 
softer than before. He had already acknowledged 
the receipt of the gift, but he had an excuse for fur- 
ther correspondence, and he intended to magnify its 
importance. A slight lameness of his sister’s wrist 
had prevented her from sending kind words to Miss 
Rachel. 

Rising with alertness, he went over to a curiously 
carved table, laid in mosaic, and taking down from 
a shelf above writing materials, he began a note to 
the New Hampshire girl of dark-eyed splendor, the 
devoted friend of Miss Susan, but now his friend as 
well. Only the occasional scratching of the pen 
broke the silence. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


“chi tace confess a.” 

Reuben Hicks was, in Eastern parlance, well edu- 
cated. His reading had been extensive; he had 
some knowledge of the classical languages, though 
he would not have professed to enjoy the original 
Greek of the Iliad as well as he did Lord Derby’s 
translation, but in amount of solid and accurate 
information he could compete gracefully with the 
ordinary college graduate. In the slang of the news- 
paper office he was “an all-round man,” but his 
special knowledge of some subjects evinced rare 
scholarship. 

Returning late to his rooms, a few evenings after 
he had written the letter which was the beginning 
of a correspondence through whose medium he was 
at last given complete happiness — for he married the 
brunette beauty the following Christmas — he lighted 
only a single gas-burner, as the night was uncomfort- 
ably warm, and stood engrossed in thought as he 
unconsciously threw the burnt match into the recep- 
tacle for his cigar-ashes. 

Finally he reached up and took from his store of 
books one bearing the title of “ Proverbs of All Na- 
tions.” He rapidly turned to the index-heading 
“Italian,” and then brushing over the leaves found 
in its alphabetical arrangement what he wanted: 

216 


“CHI TACE C0NEESSA.’* 2T7 

“Chi face confessa," with the accompanying transla- 
tion, “Silence is confession.” 

“ How much is that true, I wonder?” he solilo- 
quized. “ Silence regarding what — confession of 
what? I’ve never understood it, though it may be 
very simple to the Italian mind. Silence may be 
a shield for some one else, I know. Is it possible 
that John C. Harrod is a living exemplar of this 
adage? There can be no longer delay. Something 
must be done, and I’ll see him to-morrow,” he mut- 
tered with strong emphasis, as he closed the book 
with unnecessary force and replaced it on the shelf. 
“ I almost hate my work at times,” he grumbled as 
he turned away. 

How did he know that the man with the “ set face” 
was Harrod? Reuben had, in his earlier investiga- 
tions, ascertained that a man named Davis had been 
a fellow-boarder with the lawyer. This item of 
information did not seem of particular interest to 
him until after the conviction of Sampson. Then.his 
memory reverted to the fact, and after some months of 
interrupted search for the gourmet — who had made, as 
was his usual custom, frequent change of residence in 
search of his ideal, good table-board — found him dom- 
iciled on Third Avenue over in Morrisania, and 
speedily made his acquaintance. Davis had not 
changed in general appearance, and apparently wore 
the self-same low soft hat, or a repetition of his favor- 
ite style of head-gear, that always had the look of be- 
ing a second-hand article. He still retained his own 
peculiar slinking gait, and was possessed of an excel- 
lent faculty for remembering some events, while his 
natural vindictiveness supplied the lack of some other 


2l8 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


mental attributes. He had never forgiven the im- 
aginary slight placed upon him by being denied a 
share in the delicacies that were placed at Harrod’s 
plate, nor had he forgotten that he was defrauded 
of some revenge upon his old-time boarding-mistress 
for this affront. The memory of a kick would have 
passed away from the tablets of his brain ; but to see 
dainties for which his mouth watered placed just 
outside his reach was to him but a renewal of the 
pangs of Tantalus. 

Did he remember the day Catherwood was mur- 
dered? “ Perfectly well,” he told Reuben. Not the 
day of the month, perhaps, but it was a Wednesday 
in June — he had changed his collar that morning. 
He wasn’t surprised that the star boarder had mar- 
ried the ex-widow. They were always too thick, he 
thought. Guessed Harrod was glad to have his 
board money saved for him. Remember! Of 
course, he recollected everything. And one partic- 
ular point to which he wished to call the detective’s 
attention was the visit or errand that Harrod had 
gone for — the then Mrs. Catherwood. Only heard 
broken sentences like, “ Take note — my husband — 
ask him — return soon;” but he knew what it all 
meant. She had sent the law-student to her hus- 
band with a note ; that was certain. 

No, he didn’t know anything more ; but he thought 
they were likely to get “spoony” with each other 
soon. 

He was in his room when he heard the whispered 
consultation in the entry between the two. He had 
gone out soon after, and had not returned till late at 
night — eleven o’clock, perhaps, as he had been in- 


219 


“chi tace confessa.” 

dulging in a large lunch. He grieved over the fact 
that he had lost his regular supper at home that time; 
but the summer season had lured him away into 
Central Park, and he couldn’t get back to the house 
in time. Always let himself in with a night-key, 
and the place was the same as usual that night. 
Didn’t hear about the murder till two or three days 
later. Nothing unusual about any of the people in 
the house that he could see, and his long, ape-like 
arms swung nervously to and fro as he talked. 

Hicks regarded him as a queer character— a sort 
of food-fiend ; but there was no reason for disbeliev- 
ing any statement he might make. Neither was it 
' a singular matter that Harrod had been sent out to 
execute this little commission. As for the note, 
Reuben had that in his possession now. It was given 
to him by the chief with a few other memoranda, 
including the handkerchief; and he had hoped 
strongly that this last-named article would have 
proved the important clew. 

Still pondering, he took from a pocket-book that 
he pulled out of the table-drawer the crumpled piece 
of paper, the import of which we know, and smoothed 
it upon his knee. Some one had crushed it violently 
in the hand and then thrown it aside. Who? Cath- 
erwood, naturally. Reuben lifted the handkerchief, 
and could still discern a slight perfume upon it. 
Wonderfully pungent extract it must have been to 
retain its odor after all these years ! That reminded 
him. Why had he not had that scent analyzed? He 
would do so, at once. He replaced them in their pri- 
vate compartment, the drawer shutting with a secret 
lock. Davis never read the papers, unless by acci- 


226 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


dent. Harrod must have done so; and why did he 
not come forward immediately and explain his per- 
haps unimportant connection with the affair, when 
the press of the city had so thoroughly aired this 
sensation, and had even commented upon the pecul- 
iar significance of the servant girl’s expression, “ a 
man with a white set face.” Was there a reason? 
Could it be true that here silence was confession? 
Damning thought! 

He had lately hunted up Davis, who had been in 
several locations in Harlem and Manhattanville since 
he was first interviewed, but his address was per- 
manent for a time, and his evidence was ready. 
Reuben took from his pocket a large pass-book to 
verify the correctness of that address. He dis- 
carded some papers that Sarah had handed to him 
that morning when he made a call at the Harrod 
mansion, ostensibly to see the host, whom he knew 
was not at home. His sister had placed some cakes 
and wine on the table as he waited. She, too, kept 
everything under lock and key. Papers! Why, 
some of them were missing, surely. He fumbled in 
his other pockets, but the search was unavailing. 
Some of his memoranda had been lost. Fortunately 
they were of little value, and he could readily recall 
their contents; but it was a strange experience to 
happen to a man so rigidly careful as he had always 
been. Then he remembered that after he had nibbled 
at the sweetmeats, and barely touched his lips to the 
muscatelle, he had dozed for a few minutes. The 
drowsiness was not strange, because he had had but 
little rest the night before, while watching at the 


CHI TACE CONFESSA. 


221 


Grand Central Depot for a suspect who did not, how- 
ever, leave the city. He had felt a peculiar numb 
feeling, too, when Sarah shook him harshly to 
awaken him from his brief nap — a horrible im- 
prisonment of his own body, similar to the sensation 
experienced when the foot is “ asleep. ” 

What did it mean ? Could those papers of trifling 
import have been taken from him then? It was ab- 
surd. Sarah was not his enemy. He would question 
her. N'importe. 

He looked over his sister’s “ notes ” and a list of 
possibilities, some of the latter being very far-fetched 
in his opinion. Mr. Harrod’s daily life was an un- 
varying repetition. Calm, kind and sedate, of hab- 
itual tenderness toward his wife. Sometimes he 
indulged in a mild joke at her fondness for Frangi- 
panni, for the whole house often seemed filled with 
the bouquet of its fragrance. It had always been 
her favorite perfume. Mrs. Harrod’s habits varied. 
She visited, drove, received, read and studied — yes, 
studied books of all kinds with the avidity of a 
school-girl. While she perused carefully the daily 
papers, her husband seldom looked at them. His 
innumerable law-briefs kept him considerably con- 
fined in the library late at night. Mrs. Harrod wrote 
much, and her penmanship was angular or flowing, 
stilted or beautifully designed, back-hand or regular, 
according to her moods. It was ^n extraordinary 
characteristic. Sarah enclosed specimens of the 
writing of both husband and wife. 

There was another peculiarity about the mistress. 
For a woman she was very strong. Sarah had seen 


222 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


her push a heavily laden bureau aside with ease, 
while she herself had been unable to move it an inch 
at an attempt made soon after. Nervous people were 
frequently gifted with great muscular power, how- 
ever. All this was of but little importance, thought 
the detective, and most of Sarah’s missives were 
swept into an urn at his side, and upon them he 
dropped a lighted match. He kept the samples of 
chirography and compared the writing of the same 
woman years ago ; but that of Mrs. Harrod differed 
considerably from that of Mrs. Catherwood. Her 
nature had changed, and naturally, too. But it was 
tiresome to think more about the subject. There 
was something more pleasant. 

Going to his trunk, he unlocked it and picked out 
from the side-box a heavy square envelope, bearing 
a picturesque monogram and exhaling a faint odor 
of violets. It was a reply to his letter of a few days 
before, and for the fourth or fifth time he read it 
carefully with evident delight. Strangely enough, 
after a brief reference to Sarah and an expression of 
regret that the sister had not been able to send her 
the news, there were six closely written pages that 
seemed only to concern him. Even if his relative 
was able to use a pen now, this necessitated a re- 
sponse from him, and he hastily dotted down on a 
stray piece of paper some sentences that he would 
use in framing the answer he must return to her in 
a day or two. 

“I really believe I’m in love, after all,” he said 
with quiet satire of himself as he rose. Turning to 
the long pier-mirror, he faced the image reflected 


CHI TACE CONFESSA. 


223 


u 


in the glass and spoke in reproachful tones: “Reu- 
ben, aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” 

But the laughing eyes that looked back quizzically 
at him conveyed no rebuke in their gaze, and he 
wheeled away with a half-smile on his face and a 
new delicious feeling of joy at his heart. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


QUESTIONS OF PROBATE. 

“Chief, was there a will in the Catherwood case?” 
asked the detective, as he made his salutation upon 
entering the main room of the detective bureau the 
next morning. 

“Still harping on that subject, eh?” was the re- 
sponse, for the commander of these legal sleuth 
hounds had lost some little confidence in the ability 
of this particular subordinate to ever disclose that 
mystery of No. — , and was of the opinion that Hicks 
should reserve his powers or discontinue all allusion 
to the tragedy until he could bring absolute proof of 
the detection of the real culprit. But he liked the 
young man, and Hicks had made a very brilliant 
record in many other affairs. The chief could not 
conscientiously refuse or decline to answer a cour- 
teous question, although, as he expressed himself, 
“ he was sick of the whole business. ” 

“Yes, there was one. I saw it.” 

“ How did it read, please?” 

“Well, I don’t exactly remember the provisions, 
but the daughter was to have $100,000 at her major- 
ity — of course, the mother must support her till then, 
and after that one-fourth of the dividends arising 
from his property was to be paid her. When the 
mother dies, the daughter, her heirs, assigns, etc. , as 
the law phrase goes, is to receive it all. 

224 


QUESTIONS OF PROBATE. 


225 


*' Very neat will, the lawyers said. The mother 
can do what she pleases with what she saves. Good 
money for both of them. The widow that was ought 
to have saved a pretty sum herself before the daugh- 
ter came of age. She had that money we found in the 
satchel less the $100,000, the entire use of the divi- 
dends for several years, and all of ‘the find’ from 
Sampson. By the way, what has become of him? 
Serving his time, I suppose.” 

“Yes, sir; but he’ll never live till the expiration 
of his sentence. He is quite low with consumption.” 

“Ah! Hasn’t confessed, I suppose,” with an in- 
terrogative air, as if he expected an affirmative re- 
sponse. Secretly he believed that Sampson was the 
genuine criminal, though they had no more proof of 
it than what the condemned man had acknowledged. 

“ There is nothing more to confess. I saw him 
lgst week. He is quite penitent for his small of- 
fence, and seems anxious to aid me, for he feels the 
imputation resting upon him. He is unable to give 
me a single clew more than the names of some men 
both he and Catherwood knew in California. He 
asserts his innocence of the murder most positively; 
and I believe him, as I’ve always done. He was 
simply a thief by force of circumstances, and his ac- 
tions now show he has nothing to reveal. I had an 
interesting account from him of what he heard about 
Catherwood’s first move toward fortune, showing 
there is truth in the well-worn adage, ‘a fool for 
luck. ’ Shall I tell it to you?” 

The other briskly nodded his head. Hicks always 
told a story in good style. 

“ The ex-grocery merchant was sitting upon a pile 
15 


2 26 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

of planks one morning in San Francisco, half sleep- 
ily thinking of how hard he had worked to make the 
few dollars he had in his pocket, and wondering what 
employment he could find that day. It was on 
Stockton Street, I believe, an unattractive locality in 
those days, buried in sand at the back of the city. 
Directly in front of him, standing on a barrel, was 
an auctioneer, about whom a small crowd had gath- 
ered. Two lots of land had just been sold for an 
ounce, when suddenly without any apparent reason 
the third one was knocked down for four ounces. 

“ ‘Your name,’ the auctioneer said, shouting at the 
drowsy man whose head had been nodding. 

“‘Jabez.’ 

“ ‘Jabez what? Jabez is no name at all. ’ 

“‘Jabez Catherwood,’ replied the other, mystified 
at this question. 

‘“All right,’ was the rejoinder, and the sale -wept 
on. The auctioneer, with his eye fixed on Cather- 
wood, knocked down to him successively five or six 
lots, taking in good faith as a bid each nod of the 
sleepy man. When the auction had ended, Cather- 
wood was asked to pay for his purchases, but he pro- 
tested with energy that he had not bought anything. 
However, as the auctioneer was firm, and the crowd 
agreed with him, Catherwood was obliged to pay the 
money. He took from his sack the three or four 
hundred dollars that were asked — almost his last 
cent — and, in despair at the ill-luck that seemed to 
pursue him with relentless spite and make him an 
Ishmaelite, he struck out for the nearest camp. 
He worked at mining, and had the usual vicissitudes 
of the gold-digger, pushing his way into the interior 


QUESTIONS OF PROBATE. 


227 


as one placer after another gave out. About four 
years from the time he left San Francisco he had 
managed to save about $2,000, and considered him- 
self on the road to fortune, when he had the misfort- 
une to fall into a gully, breaking his leg, and was 
taken to the hospital of Mokelumne Hill. 

“ After some weeks of suffering, with his pocket- 
book again sadly depleted, he recovered, and was 
preparing to leave, when he was accosted by a 
smartly dressed young man, who had been searching 
for him. Catherwood was told that one of the largest 
houses in ’Frisco wanted to ascertain the price of his 
lots on Stockton Street. He had almost forgotten 
that he was a real estate owner. His first impulse 
was to say $100, but Jabez had a negative sort of 
business shrewdness, and conjecturing rightly, there 
must be some considerable value in the sand-heaps 
when a firm had taken this trouble, began dickering 
with him. The two finally returned to the city to- 
gether, and there Catherwood was offered $10,000 
apiece for his lots. Ascertaining that this sum was 
about their market-price, he closed out the deal, and 
with the $60,000 in his possession began speculating 
carefully. He did well in real estate, and at last 
made his great ‘hit’ in the purchase of an abandoned 
mine for a small sum of money. His practical 
knowledge of rocks assured him that he had not made 
a mistake, but he never dreamed of the immense 
wealth it contained. I see it is rated now as being 
worth forty million. ” 

“ A good yarn,” chuckled the chief. 

“Yes, and quite as wonderful as other tales I’ve 
heard, by which the pauper developed into the full* 


228 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


fledged millionaire. But to return to our former 
subject. How did the will come here?” 

“ I’m under the impression that the old fellow sent 
it home, some twelve months or so before he came 
back. It was all right, I know. Of course, he 
could have had the will probated there, but he 
claimed this State as his residence.” 

“ Shall I be able to see it?” 

“ Certainly. Apply to any reputable lawyer, and 
he will take you into court and secure permission 
for you to look at it.” 

Acting upon this advice, Reuben had the will laid 
open before him two hours later. He saw that its 
provisions were substantially as stated by his supe- 
rior officer, and that the attestation clause and signa- 
tures seemed properly legal. He made a note of 
the witnesses’ names, noticed that Mrs. Catherwood 
(now Harrod) had been appointed administrator, as 
no executor was named (the general statement had 
been made different from this in the papers), saw 
the court’s ratification of sales and approval of ac- 
counts, and after asking a few questions relative to 
the common proceedings in settling estates, took his 
departure. His last movement was to hold the will 
up to the large lighted window in the room, and to 
note that the paper was made by the “ Meriden Pa- 
per Company.” This item went into his memoran- 
dum-book. The water-mark on writing-paper had 
always been a matter of curiosity to him. The proc- 
ess of this peculiar stamping is known to but a few. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


THE INTERVIEW. 

The clocks had chimed the hour of two as Reuben 
Hicks stood before the door of heavy plain oak, bear- 
ing a small tin sign, labeled “ Private,” leading into 
the inner office of one of the most popular attorneys 
of the day. In response to his heavy, quick knock, 
for he could not restrain a slight nervous action, a 
quiet but decisive voice exclaimed, “Come in,” and, 
turning the knob as he raised his hat, the detective 
was an instant later in the presence of the Hon. 
John C. Harrod. And no man, living or dead, had 
ever, according to general opinion, a better right to 
that much misapplied term, “Honorable.” He sat 
in a leather-cushioned revolving chair, and had evi- 
dently been busily engaged in writing. Half-wheel- 
ing about to face his visitor, he waved his hand 
toward the other, motioning him to be seated as he 
■courteously acknowledged the bow of the visitor by 
•a grave salute. 

“ Will you allow me, Mr. Harrod?” and the detec- 
tive, still standing, had put an enamelled bit of paste- 
board in the other’s hand. 

“I haven’t forgotten you, Mr. Hicks,” responded 
the lawyer, placing the card on the desk ; “ but to 
what am I indebted for the honor of this visit?” 

“ Business and professional, sir.” 

229 


230 The catHe&wood mysTEHY, 

“ To me?” 

“ No sir, to me. ” 

“Ah! how? I do not understand. But pray be 
Seated,” again waving his hand toward a vacant 
chair. 

“I trust there is no danger of our being inter- 
rupted, sir,” said the detective, as he sat down after 
a hasty glance at the door, “ or of our being over- 
heard,” and his eyes roved about the small chamber 
searching for transoms or openings of any kind. 

“ Not the slightest. The walls have no ears here, ” 
he continued with a slight smile, his benign gaze 
resting upon Hicks and expressing only a slight 
shade of amusement at the extra precautions evi- 
denced by the manner of his visitor. 

“ But it is a very secret affair I wish to confide to 
you, and I only hope that we may be free from in- 
terruption for the next ten minutes.” 

The lawyer bent toward the speaker with an air 
of interest. 

“ That is assured you, Mr. Hicks, as no one will be 
allowed to make an attempt to enter here until after 
your departure. That rule of the office is never 
violated.” 

“Thank you, sir. First, I would be gratified — 
greatly obliged, indeed — if you would answer just 
one question for me.” 

“ It is quite probable I can afford you that pleas- 
ure, provided the question is a pertinent one.” 

“ It is, Mr. Harrod, I can assure you. Will you 
tell me, please, if you were or were not in the room 
occupied by Jabez Catherwood on East Ninth Street, 
a short time before his death?” 


THE INTERVIEW. 


23I 


The lawyer started, moved back in his chair, 
looked at Hicks keenly, and then stared vacantly 
at the wall, while he hastily raised his hand to the 
side of his face and stroked the soft beard nervously. 
He replied with some slight change of countenance, 
and with a hauteur of voice quite different from his 
previous pleasant tones, “ I am afraid your question 
is rather impertinent than otherwise. ” 

“ It is not intended to be, believe me,” responded 
the other eagerly. “ See, sir. That was my busi- 
ness card handed you. Notice it, please. I am one 
of the city detectives, and I have a right to ask the 
question, although I’d much rather receive the an- 
swer from you as a matter of assent or denial, aside 
from my professional capacity.” The lawyer slowly 
lifted the card to the level of his eyes and read aloud 
from its embossed surface : 

“ Reuben Hicks, Detective, N. Y. P. P. ** 

He passed his hand wearily across his brow once 
or twice, as if in deep and possibly unpleasant re- 
trospection. 

“ Before I answer your question, may I ask you 
why you seek this information from me? Will the 
knowledge bring harm to any one?” 

“ I hate to tell you, Mr. Harrod. You may pos- 
sibly remember that the inquest held at the time of 
Catherwood’s murder developed the fact that one of 
the ‘mysterious callers, ’ as the newspapers called 
them, had a white, set face. I have known for some 
time — not very long, perhaps — that you were the 
man. Davis, your fellow-boarder at the time, is 
still living, and is quite willing to testify that the 
lady who is at present your wife sent you with a note 


232 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


to Jabez Catherwood, and there is a strong pre- 
sumption that you delivered the message. At least, 
the paper was received by him and is now in my pos- 
session. It has annoyed me, Mr. Harrod, to think 
you could not or did not make an explanation of this 
at the time. ” 

“You are right, Mr. Hicks. It was a grievous 
mistake. I did not see the newspaper references just 
then, but it is true that I visited the man who was 
afterward killed. ” The detective could not, for the 
first time in his life of man-hunting, refrain from an 
exclamation of surprise. He was certain of the fact, 
and yet he had almost hoped that the lawyer would 
deny and demonstrate that it was a case of mistaken 
identity. Really, Davis looked too simple to be used 
as a witness for or against any one. 

Mr. Harrod continued : “ I put into his hands a 

communication from the lady who has since honored 
me by taking my name. My interview with him 
was brief and inconsequential. It was my intention 
to report this incident to the police authorities, and 
only at the instance of Mrs. Harrod did I refrain 
from doing so.” 

“ Mrs. Harrod !” ejaculated the detective in accents 
of wonder. 

“Yes, at present. She seemed to be so terribly 
worried at my having any connection with the trag- 
edy that, at her earnest request, I delayed day after 
day doing what I’ve always considered my duty. 
You can understand all that, however, as well as I. 
But why have you waited so many years before seek- 
ing me to gain the information? Ah, yes, you did 
not know till some months ago, I remember you said. 


THE INTERVIEW. 


233 


1 have never bound myself with a promise, and I 
should have been as ready to answer your question at 
the time as now ; more so, in fact, for I must confess 
it comes to me just at present as an unpleasant sur- 
prise — a reminder of a very distressing episode.” 

“ Oh, sir, if you had only had done so!” and Hicks’ 
voice was tremulous. 

“Why, what do you mean?” and the lawyer’s ex- 
pression indicated great wonder. The detective had 
spoken as if he felt the most infinite pity for him. 

This was unaccountable. Most persons would 
have shown envy at his success and position. It was 
unpleasant, of course, and he began to have a faint 
inkling of how much it might be so to him ; but why 
should any one express sympathy for him, as this 
man’s tones and manner evidently did. 

“Can’t you understand, Mr. Harrod? Don’t you 
see your mistake? It has been a theory of the office, 
as it would naturally be under the circumstances, 
that some one of the three visitors who were un- 
known committed the crime. It’s a theory I held 
for some years, but I believe I’ve finally discarded 
it, or I should not have sought you to-day. The 
woman died innocent, according to her written state- 
ment; a man in the penitentiary is now dying, and 
he, too, is regarded as being free from any active par- 
ticipation in this crime. You are the third and last. ” 

“ Why, fellow, what do your words imply?” and the 
lawyer, now quite angry, jumped hastily to his feet. 
The quivering movements of his delicate nostrils 
indicated the strong resentment actuating him. 
This sort of talk was incomprehensible. 

“Mr. Harrod,” and the detective’s voice was as 


234 THE GATHER WOOD mystery. 

sad as that of a woman in distress, ‘‘it’s the most 
unpleasant duty of my life. I don’t believe it; but 
can’t you, as a legal practitioner, see that you are in- 
culpated? I don’t wish to enter into details. Can’t 
you understand the circumstantial and cumulative 
evidence against you, and that there is every reason 
to suppose you are the murderer?” 

‘‘Murderer!” came the long-drawn, gasping sigh, 
with an inflection of horror from the lips of the 
white, set face which had suddenly grown paler, al- 
though there was a look of determination upon the 
features and a contraction of the mouth that was al- 
most appalling. No wonder that face had made such 
an impression upon the stupid Irish girl; it would 
have drawn attention anywhere. It was peculiar 
and unique, though it displayed only courage, good- 
ness, and moral heroism to those who thought they 
read aright. It was such an outrageous thing to even 
breathe a suspicion against him of the slightest 
wrong-doing that, for an instant, he was tempted to 
hurl this man to the floor. But as he looked at the 
detective, there was a revulsion of feeling. In what 
a gentlemanly manner he had done what perhaps he 
had been ordered to do ! There was no bravado in 
the appearance of Hicks. Anyone suddenly coming 
upon them would have supposed that the visitor had 
been detected, full-handed, in some gross misde- 
meanor, or that he had been summoned there for 
stern rebuke, the look of humiliation was so strong 
upon him. 

“ Sit down, sir,” said the lawyer, for the other man 
too had risen, carried away by the impulses moving 
them both. “ I’-ve been too hasty, perhaps, and I 


THE INTERVIEW. 


235 


beg your pardon. ” He waved his hand gracefully in 
apology for his scornful words. They sank into their 
seats with a mutual breath of relief. 

“ Tell me more about it, Mr. Hicks,” and his voice 
was hard and commmanding. 

“ It is strangely unfortunate that your daughter- 
in-law has conceived such a violent dislike for you. 
Yes,” he interpolated, as Harrod gave a sudden 
movement of surprise, and the detective imagined 
there was a look of aversion on the lawyer’s face; 
“ we detectives know everything. I tell you, sir, I 
have strong faith in your integrity. I want to make 
it implicit, and would as soon think of accusing my- 
self of this horrible deed. Now, to g.dd to the en- 
tanglement, there is a newspaper fellow with rather 
a shady reputation, as I’ve learned here in town, 
who wants to brighten out before the world, and he 
has grasped the idea that you are the guilty person, 
basing his supposition upon the motive of your mar- 
riage. It has been a painful study to me for years. 
Even if I had been convinced of your active or pas- 
sive participation in the affair, I know just what a 
risk I entertain in bringing the accusation against 
you, for if it could not be sustained my prospects 
would be ruined. I should be dismissed from the 
force and hooted out of the city. If I could prove it, 
there would be probably sufficient influence exerted 
to have me removed elsewhere. This has all been 
very apparent to me; but if I had known beyond 
doubt that you were guilty, I should have demanded 
your arrest. I repeat that I’m convinced of the utter 
impossibility of your being cognizant of this crime, 
and yet you can see what a chain of evidence there 


236 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

has been looped about you. Your failure to ac- 
knowledge your identity with one of these visitors 
for whom the police searched, the crumpled note, 
your step-daughter’s unconcealed antagonism, the 
apparent motive, the ready declarations of such wit- 
nesses as Davis and the servant girl, and the strange 
fact that you were ‘listed’ as a socialist (a dangerous 
man) at one time in this city. It’s terrible, Mr. 
Harrod, for I may be forced to place you under ar- 
rest at almost any moment.” 

“There is one effort yet to be made, ” responded 
the lawyer, who after the first moments of being as- 
tounded was capable of giving the subject quiet 
thought ; “ an^I that is, to find the criminal. It is very 
gratifying to have you speak of me so kindly. I 
really did not think men of your profession had such 
generous susceptibilities, for I had not conceived a 
very high ideal of the class of detectives whom I’ve 
occasionally seen in court, and I’m glad to have my 
mind disabused. I assure you that, if it becomes 
necessary to arrest me, I shall never forget the gen- 
tlemanly solicitude you have shown in my behalf. I 
look upon you indeed as a friend. The suspicion 
even is a disgrace to me, but it seems it can not be 
helped. I do not believe a just God will allow me 
to be punished for the sins of others. I knew some 
sorrow in my early manhood — heart-rending burdens 
I thought them then — and my heart was rebellious 
against my fate. It was at that time I made the one 
false step of my life, to which you refer ; but the years 
have brought me wisdom.” And the speaker’s face 
was as calm as a righteous spirit could make a man 
look. “You will do your duty,” he continued, 


THE INTERVIEW. 


237 


“ whenever it is necessary, but first I wish to make 
one suggestion; perhaps I will call it a request. 
There is no danger of my taking flight. That would 
not only be foolish, but tantamount to a confession 
of guilt. I know too well that the long arm of the 
law reaches everywhere. I want you to go to San 
Francisco.” 

He turned toward the desk, opened a long, narrow- 
lidded book, and wrote hastily a few lines. “ There, 
that is a check for $2,000 — sufficient for you to pay 
the expenses of travel and investigation; sufficient 
to determine if it be not probable that some old ac- 
quaintance of Mr. Catherwood may not be the person 
for whom you are looking. Front doors are not al- 
ways locked, and you may find a clew of some one 
who followed the unfortunate man to this city, gained 
entrance to his room unseen, and perpetrated the 
crime.” 

“ I believe that is the right theory, Mr. Harrod, 
and others have lately come to the same conclusion.” 

“ Which others?” 

“ I must ask you to excuse me from telling. ” 

“It doesn’t matter. Please take this. It is not 
‘hush-money,’ ” for the detective made a gesture of 
dissent, “but part payment of my case in defence 
and in advance. I would not offer you one cent in 
my own behalf, in attempting to purchase your si- 
lence. Are you willing to do this?” The detective 
nodded acquiescence as he received the check. 

“When you return,” and the speaker tugged at his 
collar as if it was choking him, “ and you have not 
succeeded, I am here. ” 

“You will pardon me, Mr. Harrod, for the un- 


23 8 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


pleasant necessity that has brought me here. Be- 
lieve me ” 

“ Pardon yon!” interrupted the other, with hearty 
grasp of the detective’s hand, as he opened the door 
to dismiss his visitor. “You have acted the part 
of a noble friend. Good-by,” and a moment later 
Hicks was slowly treading the steps of the long stair- 
way. He never used an elevator when he wanted 
to think. He shook his head dubiously as he mused : 

“ Strange, that not once did he in direct words 
declare himself guiltless. Ah! well — I understand 
one thing. Before he will allow me to arrest him 
he will kill himself. If he is a villain, he is a great 
man ; and his end will be a fitting one, dramatic as 
his career. He will never face the scorn of a mob. 
But I still believe in him,” though in spite of this 
assertion there was a vague doubt, a species of self- 
inflicted torture, that he could not put aside. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


FOUND — A WILL. 

The detective had secured means of informing 
his sister of the trip to California, with the assurance 
that the affair would be settled within the next two 
months, and that she should then be free; for she 
had grown weary of her servitude, as she rightly 
called it, and wanted to resume her normal position. 
She claimed that she had fulfilled her mission, and 
begged relief from her onerous and unpleasant duties. 

Early the next morning, as he was about to step 
into the cab waiting at his front door, a tiny note 
was placed in his hands by a messenger-boy. “ From 
Sarah,” he muttered as he tore the envelope open 
hastily and read on the paper in her long, thin 
writing: “Don’t forget to look for his will in San 
Francisco.” 

His will. The personal pronoun referred to Cath- 
erwood, but this was the very ecstasy of madness. 
Why, his will was safely stored in the Surrogate 
Court of New York City. 

“Dear little sis,” he thought, in slightly sarcastic 
mood, “you don’t know everything yet; and I’m 
afraid I’ll losS confidence in you if you’re not 
shrewder than this.” 

But while the discarded envelope fluttered into the 
gutter, the communication was carefully placed in 
239 


240 


THE CATHERW00D MYSTERY. 


his pocket, and barely another remembrance was 
given it until nearly three weeks later, when he sat 
in his room at a leading hotel, from the windows of 
which he could look out upon the waters of the Gold- 
en Gate. Though he had not been stimulated by 
an enthusiastic hope, he was disappointed, for his 
search had not been fruitful. Catherwood had not 
formed many acquaintances, it was apparent, and 
those were wholly indifferent to the man of whom 
they only recollected that he had for some years been 
poverty-stricken, until genuine accident threw for- 
tune in his way, and, in the expressive language of 
one narrator, “ put him on his feet. ” There was no 
account of any escapade to be learned — nothing that 
could be assumed as creating for Catherwood a tire- 
less enemy, who tracked him till a direct opportunity 
was given for revenge or the successful payment of 
a debt of hatred. Hicks verified the story of the lot- 
buying, and ascertained that it was for a while a 
standing joke among the old class of miners who be- 
lieved Catherwood had been sold, as did other people 
when he purchased the abandoned mine. But when 
a rich-bearing quartz was finally located by the geol- 
ogists and “ mining sharps” that the proprietor had 
put to work as investigators, there was a rush to the 
vicinage that had never before been equaled, and 
has only been exceeded since by the noted “ Coeur 
d’Alene stampede, ”* in the winter and spring of 1884. 
There were no men with bad records that had had 
any connection with Catherwood, no friend who had 


* Stampede, m the phraseology of the mining regions, is a wild rush 
for some newly discovered “diggings.” The metal, however, must be 
gold. 


FOUND A WILL. 


241 


“ grub-staked” him at some past time, and those in 
charge of his mining interests were business men of 
undoubted integrity. Most of them were entire 
strangers to the original owner, the members of the 
syndicate being Eastern capitalists, who had pur- 
chased on the “ say-so” of an expert, and the one or 
two men who had visited the grounds. Absolutely 
nothing to connect that tragedy in the metropolis 
wit*h the past life and associations of the man here. 
The detective almost groaned in abasement of spirit 
as he saw no hope to save Harrod from the contam- 
ination of an implication with the murder. 

Hicks had visited the mine, though the warm 
enervating climate had slightly affected his health, 
making him weak and dispirited on the trip; and 
following a trail through the gloomy solitudes of the 
wilderness with no company but that of a surly and 
taciturn guide is not a very enlivening proceeding. 
He had forded streams, scrambled over rocks, and 
plunged through mire in reaching the town, which 
consisted principally of saloons, song-and-dance 
halls, half-tent, half-shanty, and a big hotel of four 
rooms, where he experienced the novelty of sleeping, 
during one night’s stay, upon a bed of which tama- 
rack poles served as springs and pine boughs as mat- 
tresses. 

• He was surprised to find, among the aggregation 
of miners, men of superior education and others of 
some fineness of intellectual fibre, who had discov- 
ered a fascination in sleeping on brush, living on 
bacon, beans, and dried apples, and pawing around in 
the soil ; for adjacent to the Catherwood property was 
placer-mining, known as “pay-dirt.” The owners 
16 


242 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


had refused to sell any sites in the locality, as they 
did not care to develop a mushroom city which 
would fade away with the same magical celerity it 
had been built. They negatived any proposition to 
open up the country, and were satisfied with the 
railroad facilities offered them at the small way sta- 
tion a mile away, which formed the nucleus of. the 
mining town. For this reason the visitor found the 
place in almost its primitive state. 

He listened to the grotesque tales, the boasting 
and blarney, and the fantastic oaths of the miners, 
but was unable to catch an echo of the past relating 
to Catherwood. Gladly the detective turned his 
pony’s head toward San Francisco. He had gazed 
with contempt at the scores of hardened women who 
hung about the camps of the mining districts, but he 
was amazed and awed at the trackless forest — an en- 
tire region covered with such a dense growth of cedar, 
pine and fir, that he appreciated the witticism of an 
Irishman who told him, “ Begorra, sor, ye’ll find the 
timber growin’ as thick as a bunch of matches, sure.” 
It was his first and last view of those trees of sur- 
passing growth, girth, and height, that have truth- 
fully been called “ mammoth. ” But the deadly still- 
ness, even at high noon, beneath this umbrageous 
canopy was appalling. It was the silence of God’s 
voice. • 

The morning after his return, he sits idly twirling 
his thumbs with vacant gaze toward the bay. He 
can not think of any possible further action. Back 
to the East, and then — poor Harrod ! He will arrange 
his papers, and taking a collection from the breast- 
pocket of his coat, held together by a tight rubber 


FOUND — A WILL. 


243 


band, he culls them, by tapping each separate one 
with his forefinger. This one — ah ! yes, it was that 
foolish farewell message from his sister. “ Look for 
the will. Bah!” he ejaculated, rising to his feet. 

But it had given him one more idea, and an in- 
stant later he was rapidly descending the stairs. 
Going into the hotel office he soon gleaned from the 
proprietor the names of the half-dozen lawyers who 
were engaged in active practice in that city ten and 
twelve years before. After consulting a directory, 
he called in rotation upon those whose addresses were 
still to be found, according to his memoranda, with 
the simple query if they knew the man or had trans- 
acted any business for one Jabez Catherwood, who 
lived in the city at intervals from about 1863 to 1871. 
“ No,” to both questions, was the unvarying response 
until he reached the fifth individual, a Mr. Wilfson, 
when he was surprised to be told that the lawyer’s 
father, who had been dead about two years, was 
formerly the counsel and adviser of Mr. Catherwood, 
and the young man was under the impression there 
were some papers of importance in his possession 
left by the father. The son remembered having 
seen Catherwood more than once, about a dozen 
years back, and could describe him quite accurately, 
but had heard nothing from him or of him, and was 
awaiting advices. Would Mr. Hicks call in the 
morning, when full information would be vouchsafed 
him? The detective was only too willing to do so, 
for he could not deny himself a sensation of wonder. 
It was a land of novelties, and he was quite willing 
to be shocked. What would these papers reveal? 
A trace of the man so badly “wanted,” perhaps, 


244 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


Reuben visited the sixth lawyer on his list, but 
that gentleman knew nothing of the information 
desired — never heard of the name or person. That 
ended the search. Catherwood had alone confided 
his business to Wilfson, senior; but, alas! no verbal 
knowledge could be obtained from that legal lumi- 
nary. Then wondering if it was possible that Sarah 
was “ cuter” than he had imagined, he went to look 
up the record of a Catherwood will, but there was 
none on file. Even if there had been, it would not 
have furnished a clew, unless some one was men- 
tioned there who might have had a motive in the 
removal of Catherwood. 

Promptly at ten the next morning he was at the 
office of the lawyer, and was warmly welcomed. 
The young attorney was sorry there had been such 
an oversight, but his father evidently knew nothing 
of the testator’s death, and the son had held the pa- 
pers without careful scrutiny, since he had first taken 
full charge of the business. He knew nothing of the 
circumstances. His parent had died suddenly. He 
repeated: “I am very sorry, Mr. Hicks, for since 
you state the gentleman has been dead several years 
it may result unpleasantly to some one ; for here in 
a bundle among a lot of receipts, memorandums and 
bills, relating to the deceased, I find his will duly 
attested and signed.” 

“ Jabez Catherwood' s will! ” almost shrieked the de- 
tective. “ Are you sure?” 

“ Perfectly so,” replied the other with a pleasant 
smile. “Here it is,” placing the document in the 
hands of Hicks, “ witnessed by three gentlemen who 
are well known to me. ” 


FOUND — A WILL. 


H 5 


The detective’s first exclamation of incredulity was 
succeeded by a prolonged whistle. “ I beg pardon, 
sir,” he said, as soon as he became aware of the 
enormity of his offence — for to some ears a whistle 
is the very incarnation of insolence — “ but you will 
understand how bewildered I am when I tell you 
that a will of this man, in proper order, has been 
duly recorded for some years in New York City.” 

“ So? But that’s not strange. The majority of 
men, and most all women, make as many wills as 
they have inclinations, and with some there are fre- 
quent changes. ” 

“True, but this is, I believe, the latest will. 
‘April 4th, 1873, ’” reading the date. “I am posi- 
tively certain that the will already probated was 
made a year earlier than this. I know the date is 
’72.” 

“ The matter must be settled at once, then. I will 
offer this for probate, with an explanation to the 
judges of the circumstances and the cause of the de- 
lay. The court will then grant you a certificate of 
record and date, and subsequently the action of the 
New York court must be nullified. But any attor- 
ney there will advise you of the necessary proceed- 
ings. I trust I may not be taking a liberty in assur- 
ing you that it is expedient you should make haste 
in this case — ‘to jump the claim,’ as our lingo 
expresses it. A line will be wired from here indi- 
cating the intelligence you bring. ” 

“ ’Twill make quite a difference to the widow, who 
has since married, for she has been rolling in clover, 
and this cuts her down terribly — restricts her to her 
dower right, I understand,” remarked Hicks, who 


246 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

had been perusing the contents of the document. 
“ Will she be obliged to return what she has already 
received from the estate?” 

“ Certainly, if it is demanded of her by process of 
law. An honest person would make the reimburse- 
ment without waiting for legal interference. I 
should suppose, however, that she and the daughter 
would adjust the affair amicably. You knew Cather- 
wood, I suppose. I’ve heard something about him. 
He was growing convivial in his habits with his in- 
crease of wealth. Did he drink himself to death?” 

“ No: he was murdered, and the. criminal has never 
been caught. It was for the purpose of finding some 
lost clew that I made this trip. ” 

“Indeed!” exclaimed the lawyer — “an untimely 
end. You can not leave 'town for some hours. I 
should like to hear the story. ” 

Hicks, in a five minutes’ talk, gave a brief outline 
of the mysterious tragedy. 

“ I can only wish you every success, ” said the law- 
yer, rising; “but, although you’ve made a strange 
discovery, I do not see that it has helped toward a 
solution of the problem.” 

“Neither do I,” responded the detective, and then 
with a courteous salute they parted, each giving the 
other a hearty clasp of the hands. Their final good- 
by was said at the depot, where Hicks received the 
promised certificate. That small, half-printed sheet 
with a judicial scrawl on it would become a power- 
ful agent in the elucidation of some problems, per- 
haps. Reuben was overjoyed to think that at last 
he had found a tangible something, and his late ac- 


POUND — A WILL. 247 

quaintance smiled as he looked upon the generous 
fee left him by Hicks. • 

“ And little sis is sharper than I am, after all. 
Well, I’m not envious. She’searned her $2,500, and 
shall go to Paris just as soon as she pleases,” was his 
muttered comment as he sank back in the cushioned 
seat of a parlor car for a six days’ trip across the con- 
tinent. “ What a beautiful world this is — this new, 
strange California, with its romance and mystery, its 
wealth and grandeur, ” and then in the midst of his 
rhapsody he yawned. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


A MODERN NITOCRIS.* 

Upon his arrival in New York the detective has- 
tened to communicate with the proper authorities, 
advising them of the facts relative to the invalid 
paper upon which the administration accounts had 
long since been passed. The last will differed 
largely from the other, as it only gave the wife her 
legal-dower right of the interest of one-third the es- 
tate, the remainder to be held in trust for his daugh- 
ter, less $200,000 to be paid her at the age of twenty- 
five, and the one-third to become hers absolutely at 
the death of the mother, with other provisions in 
case of the daughter’s decease without issue. The 
court notified Reuben of the receipt of the prelim- 
inary telegram, and that orders would be issued for 
a proper distribution of the property as soon as the 
Surrogate heard from the San Francisco jurisdiction. 

Catherwood had evidently changed his mind re- 
garding his wife during the last years of his life, 
owing probably to the fascinating qualities of the 
fair Estelle, as the first will bore date of May 27, 1872. 

Hicks then turned his steps toward the home of 
the Austins, for he considered it an absolute neces- 
sity to have an interview with “ Miss Nellie,” as she 
was still called by the family, before proceeding far- 

* The Egyptian Cinderella. See Herodotus. 

248 


A MODERN NITOCRIS. 


249 


ther. He was also very anxious to see that intelli- 
gent sister of his ; but he must wait till she could get 
“ a day off, ” which, he had written to her, must be on 
the morrow. 

To his sore discomfort, he speedily ascertained 
that Mrs. Austin, who met him dressed in blue silk, 
wearing pearl ornaments, and who had a mandolin 
lying by her side, upon which she had been playing 
— she was evidently preparing to be entertained or 
to act as hostess — was just as strong in her dislike of 
her step-father as ever, and with her suspicions as 
firmly established of his active guilt or complicity in 
the death of her parent. 'They had really been 
united in a bond of confidence and secrecy for some 
time, though the detective was alone the recipient of 
all revelations. She even had a new grievance. 
Her mother had taken seriously to the study of Bud- 
dhism, and the daughter believed it was owing to 
the influence of Mr. Harrod. 

“ That man has no consistent religious creed, I am 
sure,” she exclaimed vehemently at the beginning 
of the interview. “ If he was in India he would be 
a Thug, and find specious reasons for indulging in 
murder. His grave dignity, which I believe is as- 
sumed, covers as wicked a heart as a man ever had ; 
don’t you think so?” But she was too excited to 
notice the lack of any response from him to the 
question. His thought was, “ How foolish!” 

She continued, inspired by her unseemly spite: 
“ I’ve heard him talk of ‘the Buddha,’ as he calls it. 
Not long ago he spoke in my hearing — I never go to 
his house now, but my husband is as devoted to him 
as ever — of karma , or moral fate, as being an ‘un- 


250 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

intelligent physical retribution.’ I suppose by that 
he means hanging, which is likely to he his fate. 
He is leading mother astray with his atheistic ideas, 
and in search for a religion that will suit his opin- 
ions. She’s simply a devotee of his greatness. His 
words are distilled honey to her, and he praises her 
frequently for this and that characteristic, and es- 
pecially for her knowledge of law, saying that she 
knows as much of deeds and conveyances as he does. 
Poor mother! How she’s wrapped up in him! I 
used to wonder why she would pore over his books, 
and knit her brows over some law papers of his she 
would copy, for he writes a horrible hand. I see it 
all now” — and the speaker stopped to draw a long 
sigh, in which to rest the pulsations of her throat, for 
she had been talking rapidly — “ it was just to win 
words of flattery from him. She adores that man, 
and would inflict pain upon herself if she thought it 
would please him,” and the buxom young matron in- 
dulged in a pensive attitude, as if such fidelity was 
a very rare and withal very pleasant circumstance, 
and she would be willing even that her dear Edwin 
should show the same devotion toward her. He was 
a sensible man, however, who loved her dearly and 
truly, but was not given to “gush,” and considered 
his actions proved the real affection he felt for his 
wife. 

“ Your mother reads considerably, then?” 

“ Oh, yes ; she memorized volumes relating to. es- 
tates and administration for months. It was a great 
hobby with her at one time.” 

“ And now ” 

“Now, she prates about the ‘endless changes of 


A MODERN NlTOCRtS. 


25I 


the metempsychosis, ’ and dwells with delight upon 
the details of the life of Gautama Buddha ;* says his 
story is almost exactly the same as that of the Christ, 
though he lived some hundred years before the Sa- 
viour. She comes here and talks hours on the sub- 
ject; Writes copious notes. Here are some of the 
stray pencilings she left with a book the other day. 
I think it is downright heathenism.” 

Reuben took the half-dozen strips she handed him. 
Upon them was written, in widely variant forms of 
penmanship, such items as these: “The doctrine of 
‘karma’ is that, as soon as a sentient being (man, 
animal, or angel) dies, a new being is produced in a 
more or less painful and material state of existence 
according to the ‘karma,’ the desert or merit of the 
being who had died. Fate and karma are not the 
same .... First, Buddhism maintains the vacuity, 
unreality, and illusiveness of nature. Naught is 
everything and always, and is full of illusion. This 
very nihilism levels all barriers between castes, na- 
tionalities, and even condition of worldly fortune em- 
bracing even the vilest worm in the brotherhood 
of Buddhism. . . . The final object is Moksha, Nir- 
vana, or the deliverance of the soul from all pain 
and illusion. The endless round of metempsychosis 
is broken by preventing the soul from being born 
again. This is attained by purification from even the 
desire of existence. . . . The Buddhistic metem- 
psychosis is therefore rather a metempsychosis of 
the soul.” 

“ Isn’t it shameful?” she exclaimed as Hicks looked 
up from reading the slips. “ Think what condition 


* Gotama Budha. 


2 $2 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

my mother’s mind must be from the study of such 
dreadful trash! She talked to me yesterday of ‘this 
deified teacher, ’ and spoke of the rest and solace a 
knowledge of the subject had given her. And I 
gave her a good scolding, too. I wanted to know how 
she, who had been trained as a strict Methodist, 
could be seeking these false gods. Buddhism! Why , 
1 think it's worse than being an injideir 

The detective had never noted “ fads” as they came 
into existence, with the sole exception of a weakness 
for bric-a-brac, and this subject was new to him. 

He formed an opinion then, but did not care to 
express his views. Really, at the present moment, 
he was more particularly interested in the handwrit- 
ing of these notes. Still, the discussion of this creed 
was peculiar, certainly; and so he remarked to the 
daughter. 

“Peculiar?” she ejaculated in hasty repetition of 
his words; “ I should think so! It’s more than that; 
it is downright wickedness, and I don’t see how my 
mother can countenance such an idea. But it’s all 
the result of the influence of that man, I’m certain. 
He would have her believe that murder is a fine art, 
if he felt inclined to do so.” 

And, unaware of how much she had trespassed 
upon De Quincey’s theory, she buried her face in the 
lace handkerchief she had been holding, overcome 
by her emotions. 

“ But you do not know that it was at his sugges- 
tion,” said the visitor with the inflection of an in- 
quiry. 

“ No ; mother denies that her husband has had any- 


A MODERN NITOCRIS. 


253 


thing to do with it. She insists that she took up the 
examination of the subject from curiosity, and that 
this belief has brought her consolation, though I 
can’t see what pleasure there will be to think that 
one’s soul may be transmitted to a monkey or any 
other hideous animal.” 

She held the popular fallacious opinion, and Reu- 
ben in his ignorance could not do otherwise than 
agree with her, that such a destination for the spirit- 
ual element was an uncomfortable disposition or 
dispensation. 

“Are you willing I should retain these slips? I’m 
interested in them.” 

“ Certainly. Do take them away, for it will be a 
favor to have them out of the house. I’m afraid, 
however, they will tend to destroy your moral prin- 
ciple. ” 

“ There is no danger, thank you ; but if you will 
allow me,” taking a letter from his pocket, “ I should 
like to show you a note I found at the house on my 
hasty visit there this morning, sent probably, as the 
postmark indicates, several days ago. The writing 
is similar to some of these,” tapping the Buddhistic 
items of Mrs. Harrod with the torn envelope. 

Her air of gayety and tones of persiflage dis- 
appeared as the letter was handed her. This was 
something more serious than a religious belief for- 
mulated on the banks of the Ganges. 

“Yes,” as she looked at the inscription; “it is 
mamma’s writing.” 

“ Will you please read it?” 

She opened the twice-folded sheet carefully, and 


254 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

after a slight pause murmured half-aloud the words 
that stood out distinctly on the cream-tinted paper. 
There was no date. 

“ If Mr. Hicks feels like traveling abroad in Eu- 
rope or elsewhere, for a number of years, the sum of 
$100,000 will be paid him at once, if he will signify 
his willingness to do so by addressing, immediately, 
G. D. F., Box 19,003, City Post Office.” 

Mrs. Austin stared at the paper with wide-open 
eyes. For an instant, perhaps, she was stupefied; 
but her quickness of mental grasp soon gave her the 
solution. 

“I understand.” She spoke slowly and coldly. 
“ My mother wants to bribe you and have you leave 
the country. How did she find out that you sus- 
pected him ?” 

“ I do not know, madame ; but she evidently has 
an inkling of the facts.” 

Truly, it was not in the least mystifying to him. 
It was quite easy to conjecture how the mother had 
obtained her information. His belief was subse- 
quently verified by a statement from Mr. Harrod. 
When that gentleman returned home in the evening, 
after his interview with the detective, at an earlier 
hour than usual, he had not been able to conceal from 
his wife a sense of uneasiness. She had watched 
him carefully and intently, and when some words 
dropped from his wavering lips upon her listening 
ears, as he turned wearily in a fitful slumber — dis- 
connected sentences, in which “ me,” “ murder,” “ ar- 
rest” formed a part— she knew that at last her worst 


A MODERN NITOCRIS. 


2 55 


fears were realized. In the early morning, by show- 
ing she had some knowledge of the past days’ events, 
she forced from him an account of the statements 
made by Hicks. 

“I will save you, John!” she had cried in mortal 
anguish, as she hung about him bewailing. 

“Don’t sorrow so, Marie, dear. It is in God’s 
hands,” returning her fond embraces and lifting her 
from her knees, where she had fallen in the misery of 
her soul. 

And this partly anonymous note, by mail, was the 
first attempt to carry out her project. She knew of 
Hicks’ absence, but had not been informed when he 
would return. 

There was silence in the room for a few minutes. 
“ Mr. Hicks, I know you are not to be purchased. If 
you were, I would give you $150,000 to remain in 
this city. This matter has lasted long enough. You 
have not found any clew to any other supposed crim- 
inal in your late trip, or you would have told me. 
[Great presumption on her part, thought Reuben.] 
You must arrest John 0 . Harrod.” 

“ It will probably be done toward the end of the 
week, as there is no possibility of avoiding it, I am 
sorry to say. ” 

“I’m so glad! ‘Sorry to say.’ Why are you 
sorry? Don’t you believe in this man’s guilt? I do. 
Yes, and I must tell you something else. There is 
a Mr. Meeks, who has lately made the acquaintance 
of my husband somehow, and he is working hard to 
prove that man guilty also. He is very enthusiastic, 
and claims to have entire proof. Edwin became 


256 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


very mad at him, and threatened to horsewhip him, 
or break his neck, or do some other dreadful thing, 

I forget which, if he came near the house again/' 

“Yes, I’ve heard of him, too, ’’replied Hicks. “A 
wonderful young man in his own opinion” — (“ a re- 
markable ass, in mine,” he muttered sotto voce ) — “but 
I shall not let this brilliant individual claim all the 
laurels, I said I was sorry, Mrs. Austin, because it 
brings sorrow and shame to a map whom I regard 
with the highest esteem. ” 

“ I know, and Edwin talks the same way. I will 
tell you now, as a family secret, that the only time 
we have quarreled is when this matter comes up be- 
tween us for discussion.” 

Mrs. Austin’s speech was a trifle careless when 
she was excited, and was quite devoid of its usual 
elegance. At other times, she avoided with pre- 
cision the introductory “ yes, ” and “ well, ” and “ but, ” 
which were localistic tendencies of speech, and ban- 
ishing the “say” and “you know” from her vocab- 
ulary as countrified, was seldom guilty of tfiat 
affected absurdity, “don’t you know.” Nothing, 
however, had ever moved her like this. “Edwin 
says he has implicit faith in Mr. Harrod.” 

“ So have I.” 

“Very well. Just as you please. That man has 
fascinated you just as he has my husband. Neither 
of you seem to take into consideration that my fa- 
ther, harmless and good as he was, was cruelly mur- 
dered, stricken down in the prime of life without 
warning, and yet all that mother and I are— -yes, and 
Mr. Harrod, too, for mother’s money helped him at 
first wonderfully, even if he doesn’t need it now — 


A MODERN NITOCRIS. 


257 


we owe to my poor father. You know this,” she 
went on in tangled speech, “ and yet, because it is 
past you do not seem to acknowledge that a just 
punishment awaits this man. My father was nothing 
to you, but he was everything to me. I could not 
be false to his memory, to myself, and let the guilty 
escape. You must arrest Mr. Harrod, and then let 
him explain if he can. I have so longed for the 
day to come, ” and there was exultation in her tones, 
as she raised her large blue eyes heavenward, though 
they were swollen with the fast-coming tears. “ I 
am like Nitocris; you have heard of her, Mr. Hicks?” 

He signified a slight knowledge of the name by 
an expressive inclination of his head. 

“Well, her husband, Nebi, was grossly murdered 
(Mrs. Austin had placed herself in a new posture, 
and sat with the insoucia?ice of a school-girl telling a 
story to her companions, as she continued the re- 
cital), and she revenged herself upon the murderers 
by inviting them to a grand banquet, at the Feast of 
Inundation, in a great subterranean chamber. When 
the revelry was at its very height, she turned the 
flood-gates of the Nile; the waters rushed in upon 
them, and the assassins were drowned like rats. 
Then she threw herself upon a heap of smouldering 
ashes and died. Oh, it was sublime ! I am like 
her . I pity mother; but I’ve been crying for ven- 
geance for years, and to see this man pay the penalty 
for his misdeeds I am willing to bury us all in a 
common ruin, if it need be. I know you think I’m 
bloodthirsty, ” — for the detective did not hide the faint 
symptoms of disgust that were pictured on his face 
at the utterance of these unworthy sentiments. Nei- 
17 


258 THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 

ther was she adapted for the part she had assumed. 
She looked more like a spoilt child that needed car- 
amels and caresses. Her life would have been cou- 
leur de rose , but for this phantasmagoria that clouded 
her brain. 

“ Edwin says it’s a mania with me. You have 
done your work well," she continued, in a tone of 
what he considered supercilious commendation, “ and 
you will be generously remunerated ” 

“ Pardon me, madam-. There is no question of 
compensation, and surely I shall not allow you to 
tender one cent. Detectives receive a salary, and 
their work is their duty, if not always their incli- 
nation. Perhaps you understand," he added, rather 
savagely. “You will feel more pity in less than a 
week from now. I must bid you good-day," and he 
hastily retired, with but little consideration in his 
adieux for her. 

“Too violent to be womanly," he remarked as he 
went down the steps from the “ stoop. " “ She has 

harped on that theory of hers till the strings of her 
mind only produce a twang, and she will henpeck her 
husband before he is five years older, if I’m not mis- 
taken. A regular nuisance she is," and he kicked a 
harmless little pebble on the sidewalk viciously; 
“but she’ll be a changed woman by Saturday night." 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


CAUGHT. 

Between the hours of ten and eleven of the morn- 
ing of the fifth day after, the door at No — Madison 
Avenue had been opened and shut several times to 
admit callers, who came singly and in pairs. Mrs. 
Harrod’s attention was finally called to the almost 
incessant ringing of the electric gong, and she in- 
quired rather sharply of Sarah, whom she summoned 
imperiously but with a trace of anxiety in her voice, 
the cause of this unusual commotion. 

She had suffered from a severe headache during 
the past night, and it was probable she had been 
worried by the appearance of the new will. 

“Gentlemen to see Mr. Harrod,” was the quiet 
reply. Mr. Hicks with a friend was in consultation 
with the master, now in the library. Three others 
were in the parlor waiting for an audience. Miss 
Nellie and her husband were coming soon. 

But what did it all mean? Why didn't these men 
see Mr. Harrod at his office? It was a very irregular 
proceeding. Her husband was surely not so ill as 
to be obliged to receive clients at home? He had 
appeared comparatively well at the breakfast-table. 
There was a worried look on his face, but he had had 
that for some weeks past. Sarah would only say 
in response that it was by the master’s orders, at 

259 


260 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


least, that Mr. Hicks had been admitted to him. 
They had arranged for the meeting the day before. 
Part of this she had heard, and the housemaid had 
told her the rest. 

“That detestable man!” Mrs. Harrod cried, with 
almost a tone of frenzy in her voice. “ He knows 
perfectly well that his presence here is not desired. 
By the way,” and she stared at the girl steadily, “I 
never noticed it before, but I believe you bear a re- 
semblance to him. You are not a relative, surely?” 

“ How can that be, ma’am?” and the young wo* 
^an smiled humbly, thinking how acute the senses of 
mher mistress must be that morning. 

“No matter,” returned the other. “Will you 
please try to get these people out of the house as 
soon as possible, and then tell Mr. Harrod I am 
anxious to see him?” 

“Anxious, ma’am?” 

“Yes, I said so,” and she responded with a show 
of acerbity quite unusual to her; “ but you needn’t 
repeat my words to me. I don’t want a parrot. I 
can’t bear to be worried with the presence of stran- 
gers in the house, and — and I don’t understand their 
business here. Go!” 

Mrs. Harrod had pressed her hand to her side 
while speaking, as if dreading an attack of heart- 
complaint. Her face was ghastly white, and the 
pupils of her eyes were dilated with a fierce light 
that indicated some great mental agitation. An out- 
sider would have said that the woman was terribly 
frightened. Sarah, who had grown accustomed to 
the steadily increasing nervousness the elder woman 
had displayed for the past few months, did not ap- 


CAUGHT. 


26l 


parently notice the tremulous dismay depicted in 
the startled face and shaking form of Mrs. Harrod. 

“Yes, ma’am; I will take the message to him.” 

The mistress heard the footsteps of the girl as she 
went down the stairs, counted the falling of the feet, 
though she was stricken with mortal agony. No 
reply had been received from the note offering the 
large sum of money for Hicks’ departure. A mes- 
senger had been sent to that post-office box nearly 
every hour for the past two weeks. Why was the 
man here? He must have understood. Did he think 
she would be unable to pay him that amount now? 
He was mistaken, then, for she had much more than 
that all her own. Had he come to her husband to 
ask for a larger sum, or was he not mercenary 
enough to have his silence bought? Was her dear, 
noble John to be arrested this day? What a horror 
surrounded her! She felt as if she should go mad 
If John was only dead, and she was dead! They 
would be resting peacefully together then. 

Again the footsteps. She stood for an instant in 
expectant dread. Then the door was thrown open 
and her daughter rushed into the room. 

“ Poor mother!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms 
about the other’s neck. “How pale you look!” 
viewing the distracted woman, and wondering, as she 
selfishly mused, if it was possible that the other knew 
what was to happen ; but no, that was impossible. 
Her mother could not have been told of Harrod’s in- 
tended arrest. 

“ You will have me always, dear mother, with you 
now. I have never forgotten the love you showed 


me- 


2 6 s THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY, 

“ Have you, Helen? What do you mean?” inter- 
rupted the elder woman, almost tearing away the 
arms that encircled her. Just then, at least, she was 
not craving for a show of affection from her child. 
“ What does all this mean, Helen?” she cried, in an ex- 
asperated tone ; for she was having a very bad quarter 
of an hour, and her nerves were completely upset. 

“ These men in the house. Tell me ” But there 

came a quiet rap at the door that silenced the voice 
that was raised in hysterical accents. A gloomy, 
drizzling rain had just began falling, and the drops 
were streaking the window-panes. Lowering clouds 
added to the funereal pall that covered all things, and 
even the daughter’s heart sank as she thought of the 
more dismal scene that awaited them below. 

“ Mr. Harrod would be pleased to see you in the 
library,” remarked Sarah, as she stood in the open 
doorway, and her tones were smooth and gentle, al- 
though there was much speculation in her eyes — no 
vulgar curiosity, but an expressive look, as if she 
could see beyond the commonplace present. 

“Yes, come, mother. Edwin is down there, too,” 
and pulling and partly pushing at the other’s arm, 
she hastened Mrs. Harrod’s progress down the stairs. 

“ Please explain,” gasped the poor woman, as she 
was hurried along ; “ is it a surprise-party of some 
kind?” 

“I’m afraid so,” and the daughter bit her lips 
when she replied. 

As the two entered, the husband, son-in-law, the 
detective and his companion rose and greeted them 
with respectful obeisance. 

“What does it mean, John?” and she ran to his 


CAUGHT. 


263 


side, placing her arm around him with protecting 
and affectionate clasp, utterly oblivious of those pres- 
ent. “ I’m so worried. Dp tell me!” 

“This gentleman will tell you,” indicating Hicks 
with a motion of his hand. “ Be calm, ” and he pressed 
her arm reassuringly. 

“ I regret, madame, to be obliged to exercise this 
painful duty, but ” 

“ Please tell me at once whatpw mean!” she cried 
imperiously, her eyes blazing, and for the once dis- 
playing the intense hate she felt for the detective. 

“This will tell you — they came first,” was his un- 
grammatical response, and he pushed aside the fold- 
ing-door, when Meeks, with a mirthful, sardonic 
smirk — never had he a sense of the eternal fitness of 
things — entered, followed by two members of the 
police force. 

What a grand moment it was for the little Fadla- 
deen ! Intensely dramatic, really ; and now, with his 
perfectly arranged cul de sac that he had been so many 
months in perfecting, he was to taste the sweets of a 
conquering herb. In some manner he too had found 
Davis, and had induced that individual to make more 
incriminating statements than had been given to the 
detective ; for the food-hunter had drawn upon his 
imagination, finding that Harrod had so many osten- 
sible enemies, and he was quite willing to stretch 
the truth if it would work injury to his quondam 
fellow-boarder. 

He still bewailed the loss of those special deli- 
cacies. He would be a great card for the prosecu- 
tion. 

Meeks, with the assumption that the eyes of the 


264 the catherwood mystery. 

world were upon him, made two elaborate bows, first 
to the ladies, and then fixed upon a position, very 
striking he was sure, with feet placed a trifle farther 
apart than usual and much more than was necessary, 
though it may have been for the purpose of main- 
taining a rather unstable equilibrium. His left pig- 
eon foot, resting upon the toes, rather detracted from 
the grace of his studied pose. Raising his eyes with 
affected contortions of the muscles, and clearing his 
throat, he began with grandiloquent and bombastic 
tone: “ Ladies and gentlemen.” There was another 
bow that reminded one of the erratic movements of 
a large stone knocked off a post as it pirouetted to 
the ground, and an additional grin of self-contained 
delight. Men from his section were always polite to 
the gentler sex, rumor stated, although the facts do 
not substantiate the popular theory, and he must 
maintain that reputation. He glossed over his actual 
nervous condition by what he supposed was a Ches- 
terfieldian salute, and was quaking with doubt of 
his ability to successfully maintain his part of chief 
actor. 

“ It is my painful duty, as a newspaper attache, to 
have been the humble means [how he did roll that 
word ‘humble ’ on his tongue, trippingly, but with 
such humility of tone and look] of bringing a guilty 
man to justice.” Ah! what visions of fame ran riot 
over his soul! It was a moment of supreme ec- 
stasy to him. 

“ Years have passed since the horrors of a dastardly 
murder were borne to our receptive ears. ” Was that 
word “receptive” a proper one? As he gave it an 
instant’s consideration Mrs. Austin murmured, in an 


CAUGHT. 265 

aside that was painfully distinguishable, “ How tire- 
some !” 

But Meeks continued : “ My attention was called 

to this mystery but a short time ago. I believed it 
was not so strange, so incomprehensible a crime as 
some would have desired us to assume." Here he 
looked straight at Hicks with a malicious smile. 
“ I will not worry you with details, but I have labored 
earnestly, have found the clews, tied them together, 
and the complete proof is now in my hands. Nat- 
urally, I have been obliged to seek the assistance or 
co-operation of the law, and through them the up- 
lifting of the veil — that is, the — the — [alas! his in- 
tellect had suddenly contracted, and his ideas were 
gone]. Officers, do your duty," and he stepped back 
with a stride and a melodramatic gesture. The 
command was given in a very stagey tone. He had 
a brief suspicion that his peroration should have been 
more rounded and finished in more complete and 
rhetorical style ; but he had done his best. In toto, 
he believed it was a success, and consequently he 
still essayed an air of superior knowledge. The 
elder of the policeman walked up to the lawyer, who 
had been looking on the proceedings with no sign 
of more than cursory interest. It was a farce played 
by small characters. His gaze fell sternly upon the 
man. “Well?" was his quiet inquiry. 

Fluttering a paper, the blue-coated retriever, in 
good imitation of Meeks’ pyrotechnical display, 
spoke: “I arrest you, John C. Harrod, for the wil- 
ful murder of Jabez Catherwood," his hand falling 
upon the lawyer’s shoulder in theatrical conclusion. 

Mrs. Harrod stood for a moment as if stricken with 


2 66 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


palsy, her breath coming thick and fast, the bloo(J ro 
receding from her face till it was as colorless as chalky 
and then taking the extended hand of her daughter, j 
allowed herself to be led toward the door. She could j 
not bear to look at her husband just yet. What-, 
cruel injustice! What dishonor to place upon him!j‘ 
But she would save him, codite qn'il co&te — let it cost 
what it may. ^ 

“My God! what shall I do?” was the cry of the- 
despairing woman as she reached the threshold. 
The detective was at her elbow. 

“ Confess, madam, ” was his response, breathing 
his words into her ear with a harshness that evinced , 
the exasperation he felt toward her who had be^> 
guiled him for many a long year with her affected 
sweetness and plaintive address — whose still ladylike^ 
demeanor covered a heart that must have beat at 
times with all the ferocity of the tiger. He was 
mad in thinking of his wasted efforts, of his sense- B 
less journeyings to and fro, and that only a sister’s . 
keen insight had, au derniire , made plain the truth. „ 

“ What do you mean, sir?” she cried, looking at , 
him with glaring eyes, though her shoulders drooped,-! 
and her form was shaking. 

“ That you are the guilty one. Oh ! I’ve found you * 
out ! I have the note you sent to your late husband 
by Mr. Harrod,” flourishing a written bit of paper,,-, 
old and torn, before her eyes. “ The penmanship is, . 
singularly like that of the forged will you made — Tt/ 
doubly so, for the paper on which you wrote was 
never made till many months after the date of the a 
will. The Meriden Paper Company did not comgr 
into existence till 1873. You drugged me witfc d 


CAUGHT. 


267 


curare put in the wine set for me in this house, but 
:e papers you stole from me did not benefit you. 
1 ’ve every evidence against you. More than all, 
here is your handkerchief, that was picked up in 
abez Catherwood’s room, scented with your favorite 
7-r angipanni !” and the linen tissue was waved before 
her startled gaze. “ Why do you weep so at night 
T ken you are alone? I know your innermost life. 
Come, tell the truth! It is useless to deny.” 

He had spoken in a low tone, while the rest were 
waiting, wondering. 

She turned with a dramatic action that Meeks 
would have given a week’s salary to have been able 
to copy, tearing herself away from her daughter’s 
grasp — an easy matter now, for that young lady 
was completely stunned. Her mother accused of this 
murder ! 

Throwing back her shoulders, and with the step of 
a queen, Mrs. Harrod advanced toward the police 
and his prisoner. “Unhand him, fellow!” was the 
command hurled at the roundsman, with an up- 
ward motion of her arm and a glance that burnt into 
*he memories of them all. “ He is innocent ! I 
killed J abez Catherwood. I hated him ! He had 
reated me with shame, and he brought back a wo- 
man who was to receive his showers of gold. I went 
lo his room, gaining admittance through the open 
door of the house without being seen. He thought it 
, as his light-o’-love when I was coming into the 
room, and then when I pleaded for justice toward my- 
^elf and child, he scorned me— told me that I must 
e divorced from him— that I was in his way! He 
wore at me. He caught up his dagger as if to 


268 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


threaten me ; and when, in my fury, I wrestled with 
him, by accident I stabbed him. The law would 
say it was justifiable homicide, but I make no such 
plea. I’m glad I did it!” 

She had spoken hurriedly, in frantic expression — 
the usual cold, impassioned manner gone forever. 
Her quailing attitude had departed as she stood in 
the centre of the room wildly gesticulating, her voice 
shrill and distinct, almost defiant. Her words were 
indelible. They inspired terror. Every listener to 
them was strangely affected, but Meeks quaked in 
his boots. Then for an instant there was a softening 
of the lurid light that gleamed in her eyes, and a 
falling of the voice as she raised her face to her hus- 
band. 

“Do not think I am a bad woman, John. It was 
not intended; but when it was done I dreaded to tell 
it, lest I should lose you and your love. It has been 
a ghastly secret to me. You were so patient and 
hard-working, and I wanted to help you, as I did. 
You had all my heart. You won’t turn from me, 
dear husband. You will forgive me, if the rest of 
the world condemns — w r on’t you?” 

She was almost crying, and he looked hard and 
stern. Never had there come to him a glimmering 
of this terrible truth. What horrible dishonor! He 
spoke to the detective tersely. It was the sublimity 
of heroism. 

“ My wife is only trying to save me. You must 
not pay any attention to her statements. I am 
guilty of the crime.” 

“ No, you’re not, dear John! Some of them know 
better,” and a pair of soft, rounded arms, that still 


CAUGHT. 


269 


retained the plump freshness of youth, were thrown 
about his neck, and warm lips touched his cheek. 
There was the caress of a farewell in the loving en- 
dearments she showered upon him, but he remained 
impassive. 

“ It was all for your sake ! Forgive me ! Good-by. ” 

Her hands dropped away from him. His unrelent- 
ing manner was breaking her heart. There was a 
hasty movement as she lifted a vial to her mouth. 
A shuddering motion of the body ; a deathly paleness 
rapidly overspreading the face ; and she sank upon 
the floor. 

“ It was all for you, John,” were her dying words. 
Then, with a shriek of peculiar horror and a writh- 
ing of the limbs, she rolled over upon the carpet. 

“ Hydrocyanic — prussic acid,” was the comment of 
Hicks, as he bent over the prostrate form. It was 
too late for antidotes. Prussian blue was useless. 
Even that last resort of bleeding from the jugular 
vein would be unavailing. This was death. 

“Your intended sacrifice was unnecessary,” he 
whispered to Mr. Harrod, who stood momentarily 
bowed with agonized grief, and then sank upon his 
knees by the side of the woman who had loved him 
so well, giving her the kiss of forgiveness, but too 
late to bring consolation to the weary, heavy-bur- 
dened soul. 

There was deathly silence, only broken by the 
sound of a closing door, as Meeks, paralyzed with 
fear, had actually crawled away from the scene. 

“What a wretch I’ve been!” sobbed Mrs. Austin, 
as she threw herself into her husband’s arms. 
“ How I have persecuted that good man! Will Mr. 


270 


THE CATHERWOOD MYSTERY. 


Harrod ever forgive me? Poor, poor mamma!” 
glancing with a shudder at the inanimate form. 

In opposite corners of the room, Reuben and Sarah 
stood, looking at each other with inscrutable eyes, 
victims almost of remorse — at least conscious of 
mingled regret that they had been made agents in 
executing the decrees of that strange but inexorable 
law of destiny. 

Presently there was a quiet movement of all to- 
ward the hallway: subdued footfalls could be heard 
passing out of the house ; and soon the bereaved man 
was left alone, sorrowing with his beloved dead. 

Three days later, Sampson laid down the burden 
of life behind the prison-walls, but he knew before 
the end that he was free from all suspicion. That 
knowledge left a smile upon the thin, worn face. 


THE END. 


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